Man For Himself

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MAN FOR HIMSELF

By the Same Author

THE FEAR OF FREEDOM

MAN FOR HIMSELF

AN ENQUIRY INTO THE PSYCHOLOGY
OF ETHICS

by

ERICH FROMM

LONDON

ROUTLEDGE & KEGAN PAUL LTD.

First published in England tn ig4g

by ROUTLEDGE AND KEGAN PAUL LTD.

Broadway libuse^ 68-^4 Carter Lane^
London E.C. 4

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Be ye lamps unto yourselves.

Be your ovm reliance.

Hold to the truth within yourselves
as to the only lamp.

Buddha.

True words always seem paradoxical but no other form of
teaching can take its place.

Lao-Tse

Who then are the true philosophers?

Those who are lovers of the vision of truth.

Plato

My people are destroyled by the lack of knowledge;
because thou hast rejected knowledge
I will also reject thee,

Hosea

If the way which^ as I have shown, leads hither seems very
difficult, it can nevertheless be found. It must indeed be
difficult since it is so seldom discovered; for if salvation
lay ready to hand and could be discovered without great
labour, how could it be possible that it should be neglected
almost by everybody? But all noble things are as difficult
as they are rare.

Spinoza

Foreword

This book is in many respects a continuation of Escape
from Freedom, in which I attempted to analyze modern
man’s escape from himself and from his freedom; in this
book I discuss the problem of ethics, of norms and values
leading to the realization of man’s self and of his poten-
tialities. It is unavoidable that certain ideas expressed in
Escape from Freedom are repeated in this book, and al-
though I have tried as much as possible to shorten diseus-
sions which are overlapping, I could not omit them entirely.
In the chapter on Human Nature and Character, I discuss
topics of characterology which were not taken up in the
former book and make only brief reference to the problems
discussed there. ITie reader who wishes to have a complete
picture of my characterology must read both books, al-
though this is not necessary for the understanding of the
present volume.

It may be surprising to many readers to find a psycho-
analyst dealing with problems of ethics and, particularly,
taking the position that psychology must not only debunk
false ethieal judgments but can, beyond that, be the basis
for building objective and valid norms of conduct. This
position is in contrast to the trend prevailing in modern
psychology which emphasizes “adjustment” rather than
“goodness” and is on the side of ethical relativism. My ex-

vii

FOREWORD

•••

VIU

perience as a piacticing^psychoanalyst has confinned my
conviction that problems of ethics can not be omitted from
the study of personality, either theoretically or therapeu-
, tically. The value judgments we make determine ouf ac-
tions, and upon their validity rests our mental health and
happiness. To consider evaluations only as so many ration-
alizations of unconscious, irrational desires— although they
can be that too— narrows down and distorts our picture of
the total personality. Neurosis itself is, in the last analysis,
' a symptom of moral failure (although “adjustment” is by
no means a symptom of moral achievement). In many in-
stances a neurotic symptom is the specific expression of
, moral conflict, and the success of the therapeutic effort de-
pends on the understanding and solution of the person’s
moral problem.

\ The divorcement of psychology from ethics is of a com-
paratively recent date. The great humanistic ethical thinkers
of the past, on whose works this book is based, were philos-
ophers and psychologists; they believed that the under-
standing of man’s nature and the understanding of values
and norms for his life were interdependent. Freud and his
school, on the other hand, though making an invaluable
contribution to the progress of ethical thought by the de-
bunking of inational value judgments, took a relativistic
position with regard to values, a position which had a nega-
tive effect not only upon the development of ethical theory
but also upon the progress of psychology itself.

The most notable exception to this trend in psychoanal-
ysis is C. G . Jung. He recognized that psychology and psy-
chotherapy are bound up with the philosophical and moral
^ problems of man. But while this recognition is exceedingly

FOREWORD

IX

{ important in itself, Jung’s philosophical orientation led only
■ to a reaction against Freud and not to a philosophically
'oriented psychology going beyond Freud. To Jung "the
unconscious” and the myth have become new sources of
revelation, supposed to be superior to rational thought just
because of their nonrational origin. It was the strength of
the monotheistic religions of the West as well as of the
great religions of India and China to be concerned with
the truth and to claim that theirs was the true faith. While
this conviction often caused fanatical intolerance against
other religions, at the same time it implanted into ad-
herents and opponents alike the respect for truth. In his
eclectic admiration for any religion Jung has relinquished
this search for the truth in his theory. Any system, if it is
only nonrational, any myth or symbol, to him is of equal
value. He is a relativist with regard to religion— the negative
and not the opposite of rational relativism which he so
ardently combats. This irrationalism, whether veiled in
psychological, philosophical, racial, or political terms, is
not progress but reaction. The failuift of eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century rationalism was not due to its belief in
reason but to the narrowness of its concepts. Not less but
more reason and an unabating search for the truth can
correct enors of a one-sided rationalism— not a pseudo-
religious obscurantism.

' Psychology cm imt be divorced from philo sophy, an d
ethics n or from”sociology and economics. The fact that I
IwveempKasTz^Th Biiis book the philosophical problems of
psychology does not mean that I have come to believe
that the socio-economic factors are less important: this one-
sided emphasis is due entirely to considerations of presenta-

X FOREWORD

S

tion, and I hope to publish another volume on social psy-
chology centered around the interaction of psychic and
socio-economic factors.

It might seem that the psychoanalyst, who is in the posi-
tion of observing the tenacity and stubbornness of irrational
strivings, would take a pessimistic view with regard to man’s
ability to govern himself and to free himself from the bond-
age of inational passions. I must confess that during my ana-
lytic work I have become increasingly impressed by the
opposite phenomenon: by th^ strength of the strivings for
happiness and health, which are part of the natural eguip-
'meht of man. “Curing” means removing the obstacles
which prevent them from becoming effective. Indeed, there
is less reason to be puzzled by the fact that there are so
many neurotic people than by the phenomenon that most
people are relatively healthy in spite of the many adverse
influences they are exposed to.

One word of warning seems to be indicated. Many people
today expect that books on psychology will give them
prescriptions on how to attain “happiness” or “peace of
mind.” Thisjbook does not contain any such advice. It is
a theoretical attempt to clarify the problem of ethics and
psychology ; its a im is to make the reader question himself
rather than to pacify liim.

I cannot adequately express my indebtedness to those
friends, colleagues, and students whose stimulation and sug-
gestions helped me in writing the present volume. How-
ever, I wish to acknowledge specifically my gratitud to
those who have contributed directly to the completion of
this volume. Especially Mr. Patrick Mullahy's assistance has
been invaluable; he and Dr. Alfred Seidemann have made a
number of stimulating suggestions and criticisms in con-

FOREWORD

XI

nection with the philosophical issues raised in the book. I
am very much indebted to Professor David Riesman for
many constructive suggestions and to Mr. Donald Slesinger
who has improved the readability of the manuscript con-
siderably. Most of all I am indebted to my wife, who helped
with the revision of the manuscript and who made many
significant suggestions with regard to the organization and
the content of the book; particularly the concept of the
positive and negative aspects of the nonproductive orienta-
tion owes much to her suggestions.

I wish to thank the editors of Psychiatry and of the
American Sociological Review for permission to make use
in the present volume of my articles "Selfishness and
Self-Love,” “Faith as a Character Trait,” and “The Indi-
vidual and Social Origins of Neurosis.”

Furthermore, I wish to thank the following publishers
for the privilege of using extensive passages from their pub-
lications: Board of Christian Education, the Westminster
Press, Philadelphia, excerpts from Institutes of the Chris-
tian Religion by John Calvin, trans. by John Allen; Random
House, New York, excerpts from the Modern Library Edi-
tion of Eleven Plays of Henrik Ibsen; Alfred A. Knopf, New
York, excerpts from The Trial by F. Kafka, trans. by E. I.
Muir; Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, excerpts from
Spinoza Selections, edited by John Wild; the Oxford Uni-
versity Press, New York, excerpts from Aristotle’s Ethics,
trans. by W. D. Ross; Henry Holt Co., New York, excerpts
from Principles of Psychology by W. James; Appleton-
Century Co., New York, excerpts from The Principles of
Ethics, Vol. I, by H. Spencer.

E. F.

Contents

PACE

Foreword vii

CHAPTER

I. The Problem 3

II. Humanistic Ethics: The Applied Science of

THE Art of Living 8

1. Humanistic vs. Authoritarian Ethics 8

2. Subjectivistic vs. Objectivistic Ethics 14

3. The Science of Man 20-

4. The Tradition of Humanistic Ethics 25

5. Ethics and Psychoanalysis 30

III. Human Nature and Character 38

1. The Human Situation 38

a. Man’s Biological Weakness 39

b. The Existential and the Historical Dichot-
omies in Man 40

2. Personality 50

a. Temperament 51

b. Character 54

(1) The Dynamic Concept of Character 54

(2) Types of Character: 'The Nonproduc-
tive Orientations 62

(a) The Receptive Orientation 62

xiii

XIV

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ^ PAGE

(b) The Exploitative Orientation 64

(c) The Hoarding Orientation 65

(d) The Marketing Orientation 67

(3) Tire Productive Orientation 82

(a) General Characteristics 82

(b) Productive Love and Thinking 96

(4) Orientations in the Process of Social-
ization 107

(5) Blends of Various Orientations 112

IV. Problems of Humanistic Ethics h8

1. Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest 119

2. Conscience, Man’s Recall to Himself 141

a. Authoritarian Conscience 143

b. Humanistic Conscience 158

3. Pleasure and Happiness 172

a. Pleasure as a Criterion of Value 172

b. Types of Pleasure 183

c. The Problem of Means and Ends 191

4. Faith as a Character Trait 197

5. The Moral Powers in Man 210

a. Man, Good or Evil? 210

b. Repression vs. Productiveness 226

c. Character and Moral Judgment 231

6. Absolute vs. Relative, Universal vs. Socially

Immanent Ethics 237

V. The Moral Problem of Today 245

Index

251

MAN FOR HIMSELF

CHAPTER I

The Pioblem

Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul; and we
must take care, my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive
us when he praises what he sells, like the dealers wholesale
or retail who sell the food of the body; for they praise
indiscriminately all their goods, without knowing what are
really beneficial or hurtful: neitlier do their customers
know, with the exception of any trainer or physician who
may happen to buy of them. In like manner those who
carry about the wares of knowledge, and make the round
of the cities, and sell or retail them to any customer who is
in want of them, praise them all alike; though I should not
wonder, O my friend, if many of them were really ignorant
of their effect upon the soul; and their customers equally
ignorant, unless he who buys of them happens to be a
physician of the soul.Jfj^therefoy^, you .haye understanding
of what is good and evil you may safely buy knowledge of
Profagorais or any one; but if not, then, O my friend, pause,
and do not hazard your dearest interests at a game of
chance. For there is far greater peril in buying knowledge
than in buying meat and drink. . . .

—Plato, Protagoras

A spirit of pride and optimism has distinguished Western
culture in the last few centuries: pride in reason as man’s
instrument for his understanding and mastery of nature;
optimism in the fulfillment of the fondest hopes of man-

3

THE PROBLEM

4

kind, the achievement of* the greatest happiness for the
greatest number.

Man’s pride has been justified. By virtue of his reason
he has built a material world the reality of which surpasses
even the dreams and visions of fairy tales and utopias. He har-
nesses physical energies which will enable the human race to
secure the material conditions necessary for a dignified and
productive existence, and although many of his goals have
not yet been attained there is hardly any doubt that they are
within reach and that the problem of production— which
was the problem of the past— is, in principle, solved. Now,
for the first time in his history, man can perceive that
the idea of the unity of the human race and the conquest of
nature for the sake of man is no longer a dream but a realis-
tic possibility. Is he not justified in being proud and in hav-
ing confidence in himself and in the future of mankind?

Yet modern man feels uneasy and more and more be-
wildered. He works and strives, but he is dimly aware of a
sense of futility with regard to his activities. While his
power over matter, grows, he feels powerless in his individual
life and in society. While ereating new and better means
for mastering nature, he has become enmeshed in a net-
work of those means and has lost the vision of the end
i which alone gives them significance— man himself. While
becoming the master of nature, he has beeome the slave of
Ae_machine whieh his own hands built. With ^1 his knowl-
edge about matter, he is ignorant with regard to the most
important and fundanae ntal que stions of human, existence:
what man is, how he ought to live, and how the tremendous
energies within man can be released and used productively.

The contemporary human crisis has led to a retreat from
the hopes and ideas of the Enlightenment under the auspices

THE PROBLEM

5

of which our political and economic progress had begun.
The very idea of progress is called a childish illusion, and
“realism,” a new word for the utter lack of faith in man, is
preached instead. The idea of the dignity and power of man,
which gave man the strength and courage for the tre-
mendous accomplishments of the last few centuries, is
challenged by the suggestion that we have to revert to the
acceptance of man’s ultimate powerlessness and insignif-
icance. This idea threatens to destroy the very roots from
which our culture grew.

The ideas of the Enlightenment taught man that he
could trust his own reason as a guide to establishing valid
ethical norms and that he could rely on himself, needing
neither revelation nor the authority of the church in order
to know good and evil. The motto of the Enlightenment,
“dare to know,” implying “trust your knowledge,” became
tKe iiibenfive for the efforts and achievements of modern
man. The growing doubt of human autonomy and reason
has created a state of moral confusion where man is left
without the guidance of^ either revelation or reason. The
result is the acceptance of a relativistic position which
proposes that value judgments and ethical norms are ex-
clusively matters of taste or arbitrary preference and that no
objectively valid statement can be made in this realm. But
since man can not live without values and norms, this
relativism makes him an easy prey fo r.irration aL^alue sysr
tepis- H e reverts to a position which the Greek Enlighten-
ment, Christianity, the Renaissance, and the eighteenth-
century Enlightenment had already overcome. The demands
of the State, the enthusiasm for magic qualities of powerful
leaders, powerful machines, and material success become
the sources for his norms and value judgments.

6

THE PROBLEM

Are we to leave it at t^at? Are we to consent to the
alternative between religion and relativism? Are we to ac-
cept the abdi^tion of rrason in matters of ethics? Are we to
believe Siat the choices between freedom and slavery, be-
tween love and hate, between truth and falsehood, between
integrity and opportunism, between life and death, are only
the results of so many subjective preferences?

Indeed, there is another alternative. Vali d ethical^ ii orms
can by for med .bj:,,main's reason and 'Ey if* alone. Man is
capable of discerning and making value judgments as valid
as all other judgments derived from reason. The great tradi-
tion of humanistic ethical thought has laid the foundations
for value systems based on man’s autonomy and reason.
These systems were built on the premise that in order to
know what is good or bad for man one has to know the
nature of man. They were, therefore, also fundamentally
psychological inquiries.

If humanistic ethics is based on the knowledge of man’s
aature, modern psychology, particularly psychoanalysis,
should have been one of the most potent stimuli for the
development of humanistic ethics. But while psychoanalysis
[las tremendously increased our knowledge of man, it has
not increased our knowledge of how man ought to live and
ivhat he ought to do. Its main function has been that of
'‘debunking,” of demonstrating that value judgments and
ethical norms are the rationalized expressions of irrational—
and often unconscious— desires and fears, and that they
therefore have no claim to objective validity. While this
debunking was exceedingly valuable in itself, it became in-
creasingly sterile when it failed to go beyond mere criticism.

Psychoanalysis, in an attempt to establish psychology as
a natural science, made the mistake of divorcing psychology
from problems of philosophy and ethics. It ignored the

THE PROBLEM

7

fact that human personality can not be understood unless
we look a t man in his totality, which includes his need to
find an answer to the question of the meaning of his exist-
ence and to discover norms according to which he ought to
live. Freud’s “homo psychologicus” is just as much an
unrealistic construction as was the “homo economicus” of
classical economics. It is impossible to understand man
and his emotional and mental disturbances without under-
standing the nature of value and moral conflicts. The prog-
ress of psychology lies not in the direction of divorcing an
alleged “natural” from an alleged “spiritual” realm and
focusing attention on the former, but in the return to the
great tradition of humanistic ethics which looked at man in
Ijis physico-spiritual totality, believing that man’s aim is to
be himself and that the condition for attaining this goal is
that man be for himself.

I have written this book with the intention of reaffirming
the validity of humanistic ethics, to show that our knowl-
edge of human nature does not lead to ethical relativism
but, on the contrary, to the conviction that the sources of
norms for ethical conduct are to be found in man’s nature
itself; that moral norms are based upon man’s inherent
Qualities, and that their violation results in mental and
emotional disintegration. I shall attempt to show that the
character structure of themature and integrated personality,
file productive characte r, constitutes the source and the
t>aVis o^ “virtue” and that “vice,” in the last analysis, is indif-
ference to one’s own self and selfmutilation. Not self-re-
nunciation nor selfishness but self-love, not the negation of
^ the individual but the affirmation of his truly human self,
; are the supreme values of humanistic ethics. If man is to
have confidence in values, he must know himself and the
capacity of his nature for goodness and productiveness.

CHAPTER II

Humanistic Ethics: The Applied
Science of the Art of Living

Once Susia prayed to God: “Lord, I love you so much,
but I do not fear you enough. Lord, I love you so much,
but I do not fear you enough. Let me stand in awe of you
as one of your angels, who are penetrated by your awe-
filled name.”

And God heard his prayer, and His name penetrated the
hidden heart of Susia, as it comes to pass with the angels.
But at that Susia crawled under the bed like a little dog,
and animal fear shook him until he howled: “Lord, let
me love you like Susia again."

And Cod heard him this time also.^

1. Humanistic vs. Authoritarian Ethics

If we do not abandon, as ethical relativism does, the search
for objectively valid norms of conduct, what criteria for
such norms can we find? The kind of criteria depends on
the type of ethical system the norms of which we study.
By necessity the criteria in authoritarian ethics are funda-
mentally different from those in humanistic ethics.

In authoritarian ethics an authority states what is good
for man and lays down the laws and norms of conduct; in

> In Time and Eternity, A Jewish Reader, edited by Nahum N. Glatzer
(New York: Schocken Books, 1946).

HUMANISTIC VS. AUTHORITARIAN ETHICS 9

humanistic ethics man himself is both the norm giver and
the subject of the norms, their formal source or regulative
agency and their subject matter.

The use of the term “authoritarian” makes it necessary
to clarify the concept of authority. So much confusion exists
with regard to this concept because it is widely believed
that we are confronted with the alternative of having dicta-
torial, irrational authority or of having no authority at all.
This alternative, however, is fallacious. The real problem is
what kind of authority we are to have. When we speak of
authority do we mean rational or irrational authority?
Rational authority has its source in competence. The per-
son whose authority is respected functions competently in
the task with which he is entrusted by those who conferred
it upon him. He need not intimidate them nor arouse their
admiration by magie qualities; as long as and to the extent
to which he is competently helping, instead of exploiting,
his authority is based on rational grounds and does not call
for irrational awe. Rational authority not only permits but
requires constant scrutiny and criticism of those subjected
to it; it is always temporary, its acceptance depending on its
performance. Tire source of irrational authority, on the other
hand, is always power over people. This power can be physi-
cal or mental, it can be realistic or only relative in terms of
the anxiety and helplessness of the person submitting to this
authority. Power on the one side, fear on the other, are al-
ways the buttresses on which irrational authority is built.
Criticism of the authority is not only not required but for-
bidden. Rational authority is based upon the equality of
both authority and subject, which differ only with respect
to the degree of knowledge or skill in a particular field. Ir-
rational authority is by its very nature based upon inequal-

10 HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ity, implying difference in^ value. In the use of the term
“authoritarian ethics" reference is made to irrational au-
thority, following the current use of “authoritarian” as
synonymous with totalitarian and antidemocratic systems.
The reader will soon recognize that humanistic ethics is
not incompatible with rational authority.

Authoritarian ethics can be distinguished from humanistic
ethics by two criteria, one formal, the other material. For-
mally, authoritarian ethics denies man’s capacity to know
what is good or bad; the norm giver is always an authority
transcending the individual. Such a system is based not on
reason and knowledge but on awe of the authority and on
the subject’s feeling of weakness and dependence; the sur-
render of decision making to the authority results from the
latter’s magic power; its decisions can not and must not be
questioned. Materially, or according to content, authori-
tarian ethics answers the question of what is good or bad
primarily in terms of the interests of the authority, not the
interests of the subject; it is exploitative, although the sub-
ject may derive considerable beneSts, psychic or material,
from it.

Both the formal and the material aspects of authoritarian
ethics are apparent in the genesis of ethical judgment iu
the child and of unreflective value judgment in the average
adult. 'The foundations of our ability to differentiate be-
tween good and evil are laid in childhood; first with regard
to physiological functions and then with regard to more
complex matters of behavior. 'The child acquires a sense
of distinguishing between good and bad before he learns
the difference by reasoning. His value judgments are
formed as a result of the friendly or unfriendly reactions^
of the significant people in his life. In view of his com-

HUMANISTIC VS. AUTHORITARIAN ETHICS 11

plete dependence on the care and love of the adult, it
is not surprising that an approving or disapproving expres-
sion on the mother’s face is sufficient to “teach” the child
the difference between good and bad. In school and in
society similar factors operate. “Good” is that for which
one is praised; “bad,” that for which one is frowned upon
or punished by social authorities or by the majority of
one’s fellow men. Indeed, the fear of disapproval and the
need for approval seem to be the most powerful and al-
most exclusive motivation for ethical judgment. This in-
tense emotional pressure prevents the child, and later the
adult, from asking critically whether “good” in a judg-
ment means good for him or for the authority. The al-
ternatives in this respect become obvious if we consider
value judgments with reference to things. If I say that one
car is “better” than another, it is self-evident that one car
is called “better” because it serves me better than another
car; good or bad refers to the usefulness the thing has for
me. If the owner of a dog considers the dog to be “good,”
he refers to certain qualities of the dog which to him are
useful; as, for instance, that he fulfills the owner’s need for
a watch dog, a hunting dog, or an affectionate pet. A thing
is called good it it is good for the person who uses it. With
reference to man, the same criterion of value can be used.
The employer considers an employee to be good if he is of
advantage to him. The teacher may call a pupil good if he
is obedient, does not cause trouble, and is a credit to him.
In much the same way a child may be called good if he
is docile and obedient. The “good” child may be frightened,
and insecure, wanting only to please his parents by sub-
mitting to their will, while the “bad” child may have a

12

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

will of his own and geni\ine interests but ones which do
not please the parents.

Obviously, the formal and material aspects of authori-
tarian ethics are inseparable. Unless the authority wanted
to exploit the subject, it would not need to rule by virtue
of awe and emotional submissiveness; it could encourage
rational judgment and criticism— thus taking the risk of
being found incompetent. But because its own interests are
at stake the authority ordains obedience to be the main
virtue and disobedience to be the main sin. The unfor-
givable sin in authoritarian ethics is rebellion, the ques-
tioning of the authority’s right to establish norms and of its
axiom that the norms established by the authority are in
the best interest of the subjects. Even if a person sins, his
acceptance of punishment and his feeling of guilt restore
him to “goodness” because he thus expresses his acceptance
of the authority’s superiority.

The Old Testament, in its account of the beginnings of
man’s history, gives an illustration of authoritarian ethics.
The sin of Adam and Eve is not explained in terms of the
act itself; eating from the tree of knowledge of good and
evil was not bad per se; in fact, both the Jewish and the
Christian religions agree that the ability to differentiate be-
tween good and evil is a basic virtue. 'The sin was dis-
obedience, the challenge to the authority of God, who was
afraid that man, having already “become as one of Us, to
know good and evil,” could “put forth his hand and take
also of the tree of life and live forever.”

Humanistic ethics, in contrast to authoritarian ethics,
may likewise be distinguished by formal and material cri-
teria. Formally, it is based on the principle that only man
himself can determine the criterion for virtue and sin, and

HUMANISTIC VS. AUTHORITARIAN ETHICS 13

not an authority transcending him. Materially, it is based
on the principle that “good” is what is good for man and
“evil” what is detrimental to man; the sole criterion of
ethical value being man’s welfare.

The difference between humanistic and authoritarian
ethics is illustrated in the different meanings attached to
the word “virtue.” Aristotle uses “virtue” to mean “excel-
lence”— excellence of the activity by which the potentiali-
ties peculiar to man are realized. “Virtue” is used, e.g., by
Paracelsus as synonymous with the individual characteris-
tics of each thing— that is, its peculiarity. A stone or a
flower each has its virtue, its combination of specific quali-
ties. Man’s virtue, likewise, is that precise set of qualities
which is characteristic of the human species, while each
person’s virtue is his unique individuality. He is “virtuous”
if he unfolds his “virtue.” In contrast, “virtue” in the mod-
ern sense is a concept of authoritarian ethics. To be virtu-
ous signifies self-denial and obedience, suppression of in-
dividuality rather than its fullest realization.

Humanistic ethics is anthropocentric; not, of course, in
the sense that man is the center of the universe but in the
sense that his value judgments, like all other judgments and
even perceptions, are rooted in the peculiarities of his exist-
ence and are meaningful only with reference to it; man,
indeed, is the “measure of all things.” The humanistic posi-
tion is that there is nothing higher and nothing more digni-
fied than human existence. Against this position it has been
argued that it is in the very nature of ethical behavior to be
related to something transcending man, and hence that a
system which recognizes man and his interest alone cannot
be truly moral, that its object would be merely the isolated,
egotistical individual.

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

M

This argument, usually offered in order to disprove man’s
ability— and right— to postulate and to judge the norms
valid for his life, is based on a fallacy, for the principle that
good is what is good for man does not imply that man’s
nature is such that egotism or isolation are good for him.
It does not mean that man’s purpose can be fulfilled in a
state of unrelatedness to the world outside him. In fact,
as many advocates of humanistic ethics have suggested, it is
one of file characteristics of human nature that man finds
his fulfillment and happiness only in relatedness to and
solidarity with his fellow men. However, to love one’s
neighbor is not a phenomenon transcending man; it is
something inherent in and radiating from him. Love is not
a higher power which descends upon man nor a duty which
is imposed upon him; it is his own power by which he re-
lates himself to the world and makes it truly his.

2. Subjectivistic vs. Objectivistic Ethics

If we accept the principle of humanistic ethics, what are
we to answer those who deny man's capacity to arrive at
normative principles which are objectively valid?

Indeed, one school of humanistic ethics accepts this chal-
lenge and agrees that value judgments have no objective
validity and are nothing but arbitrary preferences or dis-
likes of an individual. From this point of view the state-
ment, for instance, that “freedom is better than slavery”
describes nothing but a difference in taste but is of no ob-
jective validity. Value in this sense is defined as “any desired
good” and desire is the test of value, not value the test of
desire. Such radical subjectivism is by its very nature in-
compatible with the idea that ethical norms should be

SUBJECTIVISTIC VS. OBJECTIVISTIC ETHICS IJ

universal and applicable to all men. If this subjectivism
were the only kind of humanistic ethics then, indeed, we
would be left with the choice between ethical authoritar-
ianism and the abandonment of all claims for generally
valid norms.

Ethical hedonism is the first concession made to the
principle of objectivity: in assuming that pleasure is good
for man and that pain is bad, it provides a principle ac-
cording to which desires are rated: only those desires whose
fulfillment causes pleasure are valuable; others are not.
However, despite Herbert Spencer’s argument that pleasure
has an objective function in the process of biological evo-
lution, pleasure can not be a criterion of value. For there
are people .who enjoy submission and not freedom, who
derive pleasure from hate and not from love, from exploita-
tion and not from productive work. This phenomenon of
pleasure derived from what is objectively harmful is typical
of the neurotic character and has been studied extensively by
psychoanalysis. We shall come back to this problem in our
discussion of character structure and in the chapter dealing
with happiness and pleasure.

An important step in the direction of a more objective
criterion of value was the modification of the hedonistic
principle introduced by Epicurus, who attempted to solve
the difficulty by differentiating between “higher” and
“lower” orders of pleasure. But while the intrinsic difficulty
of hedonism was thus recognized, the attempted solution
remained abstract and dogmatic. Nevertheless, hedonism
has one great merit: by making man’s own experience of
pleasure and happiness the sole criterion of value it shuts
the door to all attempts to have an authority determine
“what is best for man” without so much as giving man a

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

l6

chance to consider what ^e feels about that which is said
to be best for him. It is not surprising, therefore, to find
that hedonistic ethics in Greece, in Rome, and in modern
European and American culture has been advocated by
progressive thinkers who were genuinely and ardently con-
cerned with the happiness of man.

But in spite of its merits hedonism could not establish
the basis for objectively valid ethical judgments. Must we
then give up objectivity if we choose humanism? Or is it
possible to establish norms of conduct and value judgments
which are objectively valid for all men and yet postulated
by man himself and not by an authority transcending him?
I believe, indeed, that this is possible and shall attempt now
to demonstrate this possibility.

At the outset, let us not forget that “objectively valid”
is not identical with “absolute.” For instance, a statement
of probability, of approximation, or any hypothesis can be
valid and at the same time “relative” in the sense of having
been established on limited evidence and being subject to
future refinement if facts or procedures warrant it. The
whole concept of relative vs. absolute is rooted in theological
thinking in which a divine realm, as the “absolute,” is sepa-
rated from the imperfect realm of man. Except for this theo-
logical context the concept of absolute is meaningless and
has as little place in ethics as in scientific thinking in
general.

But even if we are agreed on this point, the main ob-
jection to the possibility of objectively valid statements in
ethics remains to be answered: it is the objection that
“facts” must be clearly distinguished from “values.” Since
Kant, it has been widely maintained that objectively valid
statements can be made only about facts and not about

SUBJECTIVISTIC VS. OBJECTIVISTIC ETHICS I7

values, and that one test of being scientific is the exclusion
of value statements.

However, in the arts we are accustomed to lay down
objectively valid norms, deduced from scientific principles
which are themselves established by observation of fact
and/or extensive mathematico-deductive procedures. Tire
pure or “theoretical” sciences concern themselves with the
discovery of facts and principles, although even in the physi-
cal and biological sciences a normative element enters which
does not vitiate their objectivity. The applied sciences con-
cern themselves primarily with practical norms according
to which things ought to be done— where “ought” is de-
termined by scientific knowledge of facts and principles.
Arts are activities calling' for specific knowledge and skill.
While some of them demand only common-sense knowl-
edge, others, such as the art of engineering or medicine,
require an extensive body of theoretical knowledge. If I
want to build a railroad track, for instance, I must build it
according to certain principles of physics. In all arts a sys-
tem of objectively valid norms constitutes the theory of
practice (applied science) based on the theoretical science.
While there may be different ways of achieving excellent
results in any art, norms are by no means arbitrary; their
violation is penalized by poor results or even by complete
failure to accomplish the desired end.

But not only medicine, engineering, and painting are
arts; living itself is an art in fact, the most important and
at the same time the most difficult and complex art to be
practiced by man. Its object is not this or that specialized
performance, but the performance of living, the process of

*This use of “art,” though, is in contrast to the terminology of Aristotle,
who differentiates between “making” and “doing.”

l8 HUMANISTIC ETHICS

developing into that which one is potentially. In the art of
living, man is both the artist and the object of his art; he
is the sculptor and the marble; the physician and the
patient.

Humanistic ethics, for which “good” is synonymous with
good for man and “bad” with bad for man, proposes that
in order to know what is good for man we have to know
his nature. Humanistic ethics is the applied science of the
“art of living” based upon the theoretical “science of man.”
Here as in other arts, the excellence of one’s achievement
(“virtus”) is proportional to the knowledge one has of the
science of man and to one’s skill and practice. But one can
deduce norms from theories only on the premise that a
certain activity is chosen and a certain aim is desired. The
premise for medical science is that it is desirable to cure
disease and to prolong life; if this were not the case, all the
rules of medical science would be irrelevant. Every applied
science is based on an axiom which results from an act of
choice: namely, that the end of the activity is desirable.
'There is, however, a difference between the axiom under-
lying ethics and that of other arts. We can imagine a hypo-
thetical culture where people do not want paintings or
bridges, but not one in which people do not want to live.
The drive to live is inherent in every organism, and man
can not help wanting to live regardless of what he would
like to think about it.® The choice between life and death
is more apparent than real; man’s real choice is that be-
tween a good life and a bad life.

It is interesting at this point to ask why our time has lost
the concept of life as an art. Modem man seems to believe

’ Suicide as a pathological phenomenon does not contradict this general
principle.

SUBJECTIVISTIC VS. OBJECTIVISTIC ETHICS I9

that reading and writing are arts to be learned, that to be-
come an architect, an engineer, or a skilled worker warrants
considerable study, but that living is something so simple
that no particular “effort is required to learn how to do it.
Just because everyone “lives” in some fashion, life is con-
sidered a matter in which everyone qualifies as an expert.
But it is not because of the fact that man has mastered the
art of living to such a degree that he has lost the sense ot
its difficulty. ITie prevailing lack of genuine joy and happi-
ness in the process of living obviously excludes such an ex-
planation. Modern society, in spite of all the emphasis it
puts upon happiness, individuality, and self-interest, has
taught man to feel that not his happiness ( or if we were to
use a theological term, his salvation) is the aim of life, but
the fulfillment of his duty to work, or his success. Money,
prestige, and power have become his incentives and ends.
He acts under the illusion that his actions benefit his self-
interest, though he actually serves everything else but the
interests of his real self. Everything is important to him
except his life and the art of living. He is for everything
except for himself.

If ethics constitutes the body of norms for achieving ex-
cellence in performing the art of living, its most general
principles must follow from the nature of life in general and
of human existence in particular. In most general terms, the
nature of all life is to preserve and affirm its own existence.
All organisms have an inherent tendency to preserve their
existence: it is from this fact that psychologists have postu-
lated an “instinct” of self-preservation. The first “duty” of
an organism is to be alive.

“To be alive” is a dynamic, not a static, concept. Existence
and the unfolding of the specific powers of an organism are

3

20

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

one and the same. All organisms have an inherent tendency
to actualize their specific potentialities. The aim of man’s
life, therefore, is to be understood as the unfolding of his
powers according to the laws of his nature.

Man, however, does not exist “in general.” While sharing
the core of human qualities with all members of his species,
he is always an individual, a unique entity, different from
everybody else. He differs by his particular blending of
character, temperament, talents, dispositions, just as he
differs at his fingertips. He can affirm his human potential-
ities only by realizing his individuality. The duty to be alive
is the same as the duty to become oneself, to develop into
the individual one potentially is.

To sum up, good in humanistic ethics is the affirmation
of life, the unfolding of man’s powers. Virtue is responsi-
bility toward his own existence. Evil constitutes the crip-
pling of man’s powers; vice is irresponsibility toward himself.

ITiese arc the first principles of an objectivistic human-
istic ethics. We cannot elucidate them here and shall return
to the principles of humanistic ethics in Chapter IV. At
this point, however, we must take up the question of whether
a “science of man” is possible— as the theoretical founda-
tion of an applied science of ethics.

3. The Science of Man *

The concept of a science of man rests upon the premise
that its object, man, exists and that there is a human nature
characteristic of the human species. On this issue the

^By “science of man” I refer to a broader concept than the conven-
tional concept of anthropology. Linton has used science of man in a
similarly comprehensive sense. Cf. The Science of Man in the World
Crisis, ed. by Ralph Linton, Columbia University Press, New York, 1945.

THE SCIENCE OF MAN

21

history of thought exhibits its special ironies and contra-
dictions.

Authoritarian thinkers have conveniently assumed the
existence of a human nature, which they believe was fixed
and unchangeable. This assumption served to prove that
their ethical systems and social institutions were necessary
and unchangeable, being built upon the alleged nature of
man. However, what they considered to be man’s nature
was a reflection of their norms— and interests— and not the
result of objective inquiry. It was therefore understandable
that progressives should welcome the findings of anthro-
pology and psychology which, in contrast, seemed to estab-
lish the infinite malleability of human nature. For malleabil-
ity meant that norms and institutions— the assumed cause
of man’s nature rather tjian the effect— could be malleable
too. But in opposing the erroneous assumption that certain
historical cultural patterns are the expression of a fixed and
eternal human nature, the adherents of the theory of the
infinite malleability of human nature arrived at an equally
untenable position. First of all, the concept of the infinite
malleability of human nature easily leads to conclusions
which are as unsatisfactory as the concept of a fixed and
unchangeable human nature. If man were infinitely mal-
leable then, indeed, norms and institutions unfavorable to
human welfare would have a chance to mold man forever
into their patterns without the possibility that intrinsic
forces in man’s nature would be mobilized and tend to
change these patterns. Man would be only the puppet of
social arrangements and not— as he has proved to be in
history— an agent whose intrinsic properties react strenu-
ously against the powerful pressure of unfavorable social
and cultural patterns. In fact, if man were nothing but

22

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

the reflex of culture patterns no social order could be
criticized or judged from the standpoint of man’s welfare
since there would be no concept of “man.”

As important as the political and moral repercussions of
the malleability theory are its theoretical implications. If
we assumed that there is no human nature (unless as de-
fined in terms of basic physiological needs), the only pos-
sible psychology would be a radical behaviorism content
with describing an infinite number of behavior patterns or
one that measures quantitative aspects of human conduct.
Psychology and anthropology could do nothing but describe
the various ways in which social institutions and cultural
patterns mold man and, since the special manifestations
of man would be nothing but the stamp which social pat-
terns have put on him, there could be only one science of
man, comparative sociology. If, however, psychology and
anthropology are to make valid propositions about the laws
governing human behavior, they must start out with the
premise that something, say X, is reacting to environmental
influences in ascertainable ways that follow from its prop-
erties. Human nature is not fixed, and culture thus is
not to be explained as the result of fixed human instincts;
nor is culture a fixed factor to which human nature adapts
itself passively and completely. It is true that man can
adapt himself even to unsatisfactory conditions, but in this
process of adaptation he develops definite mental and emo-
tional reactions which follow from the specific properties
of his own nature.

Man can adapt hipiself to slavery, but he reacts to it by
lowering his intellectual and moral qualities; he can adapt
himself to a culture permeated by mutual distrust and
hostility, but he reacts to this adaptation by becoming weak

THE SCIENCE OF MAN 2^

and sterile. Man can adapt himself to cultural conditions
which demand the repression of sexual strivings, but in
achieving this adaptation he develops, as Freud has shown,
neurotic symptoms. He can adapt himself to almost any
culture pattern, but in so far as these are contradictory to
his nature he develops mental and emotional disturbances
which force him eventually to change these conditions
since he can not change his nature.

Man is not a blank sheet of paper on which culture can
write its text; he is an entity charged with energy and
structured in specific ways, which, while adapting itself,
reacts in specific and ascertainable ways to external condi-
tions. If man had adapted himself to external conditions
autoplastically, by changing his own nature, like an animal,
and were fit to live under only one set of conditions to
which he developed a special adaptation, he would have
reached the blind alley of specialization which is the fate of
every animal species, thus precluding history. If, on the
other hand, man could adapt himself to all conditions with-
out fighting those which are against his nature, he would
have had no history either. Human evolution is rooted in
man’s adaptability and in certain indestructible qualities
of his nature which compel him never to cease his search
for conditions better adjusted to his intrinsic needs.

The subject of the science of man is human nature. But
this science does not start out with a full and adequate
picture of what human nature is; a satisfactory definition
of its subject matter is its aim, not its premise. Its method
is to observe the reactions of man to various individual and
social conditions and from observation of these reactions to
make inferences about man’s nature. History and anthro-
pology study the reactions of man to cultural and social

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

24

conditions different from our own; social psychology studies
his reactions to various social settings within our own cul-
ture. Child psychology studies the reactions of the growing
child to various situations; psychopathology tries to arrive
at conclusions about human nature by stud)dng its distor-
tions under pathogenic conditions. Human nature can
never be observed as such, but only in its specific manifesta-
tions in specific situations. It is a theoretical construction
which can be inferred from empirical study of the behavior
of man. In this respect, the science of man in constructing
a “model of human nature” is no different from other
sciences which operate with concepts of entities based on,
or controlled by, inferences from observed data and not
directly observable themselves.

Despite the wealth of data offered by anthropology and
psychology, we have only a tentative picture of human
nature. For an empirical and objective statement of what
constitutes “human nature,” we can still learn from Shy-
lock if we understand his words about Jews and Christians
in the wider sense as representatives of all humanity.

“I am a Jew! Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands,
organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the
same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and
cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?

If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not
laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong
us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we
will resemble you in that.”

THE TRADITION OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS 25

The Tradition of Humanistic Ethics

In the tradition of humanistic ethics the view prevails
that the knowledge of man is the basis of establishing norms
and values. The treatises on ethies by Aristotle, Spinoza,
and Dewey— the thinkers whose views we shall sketeh in
this chapter— are therefore at the same time treatises on
psychology. I do not intend to review the history of human-
istic ethics but only to give an illustration of its principle
as expressed by some of its greatest representatives.

For Aristotle, ethics is built upon the science of man.
Psychology investigates the nature of man and ethics there-
fore is applied psychology. Like the student of politics, the
student of ethics “must know somehow the facts about the
soul as the man who is to heal the eyes or the body as a
whole must know about the eyes or body . . . but even
among doctors the best educated spend much labour on
acquiring knowledge of the body.” " From the nature of
man, Aristotle deduces the norm that “virtue” (excellence)
is “activity,” by which he means the exercise of the func-
tions and capacities peculiar to man. Happiness, which is
man’s aim, is the result of “activity” and “use”; it is not
a quiescent possession or state of mind. To explain his con-
cept of activity Aristotle uses the Olympic Games as an
analogy. “And, as in the Olympic Games,” he says, “it is
not the most beautiful and the strongest that are crowned,
but those who compete (for it is some of these that are
victorious), so those who act win, and rightly win, the
noble and good things in life.” ® The free, rational, and

®Ethica Nicomachea, W. D. Ross, tr. (London, New York: Oxford
University Press, 1925), 1102 a, 17-24.

• Ibid., 1099 a, 3-5

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

26

active (contemplative) n^an is the good and accordingly
the happy person. Here we have, then, objective value
propositions which are man-centered or humanistic, and
which are at the same time derived from the understanding
of the nature and function of man.

Spinoza, like Aristotle, inquires into the distinctive func-
tion of man. He begins by considering the distinctive
function and aim of anything in nature and answers that
“each thing, as far as it is in itself, endeavours to persevere
in its being.” ’’ Man, his function, and aim can be nothing
else than that of any other thing: to preserve himself and
to persevere in his existence. Spinoza arrives at a concept of
virtue which is only the application of the general norm to
the existence of man. “To act absolutely in conformity
with virtue is, in us, nothing but acting, living and pre-
serving our being (these three things have the same mean-
ing) as reason directs, from the ground of seeking our own
profit.” «

Preserving one’s being means to Spinoza to become that
which one potentially is. This holds true for all things. “A
horse,” Spinoza says, “would be as much destroyed if it
were changed into a man as if it were changed into an
insect”; and we might add that, according to Spinoza, a
man would be as much destroyed if he became an angel as
if he became a horse. Virtue is the unfolding of the specific
potentialities of every organism; for man it is the state in
which he is most human. By good, consequently, Spinoza
understands everything “which we are certain is a means by
which we may approach nearer and nearer to the model of

r Benedictus de Spinoza, Ethics, W. Hale White, tr., revised by Amelia
Hutcheson Sterling — Humphrey Milford (London: Oxford University Press^
1927) » III, Prop. o. (In Scribner's Spinoza Selections.)

*Ibid., IV, Prop 24.

THE TRADITION OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS 27

human nature He set before us” (italics mine). By evil he
understands “everything which we are certain hinders us
from reaching that model.” ® Virtue is thus identical with
the realization of man’s nature; the science of man is conse-
quently the theoretical science on which ethics is based.

While reason shows man what he ought to do in order
to be truly himself and thus teaches him what is good, the
way to achieve virtue is thjough the active use man makes
of his powers. Potency thus is the same as virtue; impo-
tence, the same as vice. Happiness is not an end in itself
but is what accompanies the experience of increase in
potency, while impotence is accompanied by depression;
potency and impotence refer to all powers characteristic
of man. Value judgments are applicable to man and his
interests only. Such value judgments, however, are not
mere statements of the likes and dislikes of individuals, for
man’s properties are intrinsic to the species and thus com-
mon to all men. The objective character of Spinoza’s ethics
is founded on the objective character of the model of hu-
man nature which, though allowing for many individual
variations, is in its core the same for all men. Spinoza is
radically opposed to authoritarian ethics. To him man is
an end-in-himself and not a means for an authority tran-
scending him. Value can be determined only in relation to
his real interests, which are freedom and the productive
use of his powers.'®

•Ibid., rv, Pref.

“Marx has expressed a view similar to Spinoza’s: “To know what is
useful for a dog,” he says, “one must study dog-nature. This nature itself
is not to be deduced from the principle of utility. Applying this to Man,
he that would criticize all human acts, movements, rdations, etc., by the
principle of utility, must first deal With human nature in general, and then
with human nature as modified in each historical epoch. Bentham makes
short work of it. With the dryest naiveti, he takes the modem shopkeeper.

28

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

llie most significant contemporary proponent of a scien-
tific ethics is John Dewey, whose views are opposed both to
authoritarianism and to relativism in ethics. As to . the
former, he states that the common feature of appeal to
revelation, divinely ordained rulers, commands of the state,
convention, tradition, and so on, “is that there is some
voice so authoritative as to preclude the need of inquiry.” “
As to the latter, he holds that the fact that something is
enjoyed is not in itself “a judgment of the value of what is
enjoyed.” The enjoyment is a basic datum, but it has to
be “verified by evidential facts.” Like Spinoza, he postu-
lates that objectively valid value propositions can be arrived
at by the power of human reason; for him, too, the aim of
human life is the growth and development of man in terms
of his nature and constitution. But his opposition to any
fixed ends leads him to relinquish the important position
reached by Spinoza: that of a “model of human nature” as

especially the Engluli shopkeeper, as the normal man." — Karl Mane,
Capital, translated from the "lliird German Edition by Samuel Moore and
Edward Avcling; edited by Frederick Engels; revised and amplified ac-
cording to the Fourth German Edition by Ernest Untermann (New York:
The Modern Library, Random'House, Inc.), I, 688, footnote.

Spencer’s view on ethics, in spite of significant philosophical differ-
ences, is also that “good" and “bad" follow the particular constitution
of man and that the science of conduct is based on our knowledge of man.
In a letter to J. S. Mill, Spencer says: “The view for which I contend is
that Morality, properly so-called the science of right conduct, has for its
object to determine how and why certain modes of conduct are detrimental
and certain other modes beneficial, Tliese good and bad results cannot be
accidental but be necessary consequences of the constitution of things /* —
Quoted by Spencer in The Principles of Ethics, Vol. I (New York:
D. Appleton Co., 1902), p. 57.

John Dewey and James H. Tufts, Ethics (New York: Henry Holt
and Company, rev. ed., 1932), p. 364.

12 John Dewey, Problems of Men (New York: Philosophical Library,
1946), p. J54.

THE TRADITION OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

29

a scientific concept. The main emphasis in Dewey’s posi-
tion is on the relationship between means and ends (or
consequences) as the empirical basis for the validity of
norms. Valuation, according to him, takes place “only when
there is something the matter; when there is some trouble
to be done away with, some need, lack, or privation to be
made good, some conflict of tendencies to be resolved by
means of changing existing conditions. This fact in turn
proves that there is present an intellectual factor— a factor
of inquiry— whenever there is valuation, for the end-in-view
is formed and projected as that which, if acted upon, will
supply the existing need or lack and resolve the existing
conflict.”

The end, to Dewey, “is merely a series of acts viewed at
a remote stage; and a means is merely the series viewed at
an earlier one. The distinction of means and ends arises in
surveying the course of a proposed line of action, a con-
nected series in time. The ‘end’ is the last act thought of;
the means are the acts to be performed prior to it in time.

. . . Means and ends are two names for the same reality.
The terms denote not a division in reality but a distinction
in judgment.”^®

Dewey’s emphasis on the interrelation between means
and ends is undoubtedly a significant point in the develop-
ment of a theory of rational ethics, especially in warning us
against theories which by divorcing ends from means be-
come useless. But it does not seem to be true that “we do
not know what we are really after until a course of action is

^^John Dewey, “Theory of Valuation,” in International Encyclopedia
of UniGed Science (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1939),
XI, No. 4, p. 34.

John Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct (New York; The Modem
library, Random House, 1930), pp. 34!.

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

30

mentally worked out.” Ends can be ascertained by the
empirical analysis of the total phenomenon— of man— even
if we do not yet know the means to achieve them. There
are ends about which valid propositions can be made,
although they lack at the moment, so to speak, hands and
feet. The science of man can give us a picture of a “model
of human nature” from which ends can be deduced before
means are found to achieve them.^^

5. Ethics and Psychoanalysis

From the foregoing it is, I think, apparent that the devel-
opment of a humanistic-objectivistic ethics as an applied
science depends on the development of psychology as a
theoretical science. The progress from Aristotle’s to Spi-
noza’s ethics is largely due to the superiority of the latter’s
dynamic to the former’s static psychology. S pin oza dis-
covered unconscious motivation, the laws of association,
the persistence of childhood experiences through life. His
concept of desire is a dynamic concept, superior to Aris-
totle’s “habit.” But Spinoza’s psychology, like all psycho-
logical thought up to the nineteenth century, tended to
remain abstract and established no method for testing its
theories by empirical investigation and exploration of new
data concerning man.

Empirical inquiry is the key concept of Dewey’s ethics and
psychology. He recognizes unconscious motivation, and his
concept of “habit” is different from the descriptive habit

Ibid.f p. 36.

Utopias are visions of ends before the realization of means, yet they
are not meaningless; on the contrary, some have contributed greatlv to
the progress of thought, not to speak of what they have meant to uphold
feith in the future of man.

ETHICS AND PSYCHOANALYSIS 3I

concept of traditional behaviorism. His statement^® that
modem clinical psychology “exhibits a sense for reality in
its insistence upon the profound importance of unconscious
forces in determining not only overt conduct but desire,
judgment, belief, idealiration” shows the importance he
attributes to unconscious factors even though he did not
exhaust all possibilities of this new method in his theory
of ethics.

Few attempts have been made either from the philo-
sophical or from the psychological side to apply the findings
of psychoanalysis to the development of ethical theory,^® a
fact that is all the more surprising since psychoanalytic
theory has made contributions which are particularly rele-
vant to the theory of ethics.

The most important contribution, perhaps, is the fafct
that psychoanalytic theory is the first modern psychological
system the subject matter of which is not isolated aspects
of man but his total personality. Instead of the method of
conventional psychology, which had to restrict itself to the
study of such phenomena as could be isolated sufficiently to
be observed in an experiment, Freud discovered a new
method which enabled him to study the total personality
and to understand what makes man act as he does. This

^8 Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct, p. 86.

brief but significant contribution to the problem of values from
the psychoanalytic viewpoint is Patrick MuIIahy's article, ''Values, Scien-
tific Method and Psychoanalysis,” Psychiatry, May, 1943. During the re-
vision of the manuscript of this book, J. C. FlugePs Man, Morals and Soci-
ety was published (New York: International Universities Press, 1945),
which is the first systematic and serious attempt of a psychoanalyst to apply
psychoanalytic findings to ethical theory. A very valuable statement of the
problems and a profound criticism — ^although going far beyond criticism —
of the psychoanalytic view on ethics is to be found in Mortimer J. Adler's
What Man Has Made of Man (New York: Longmans, Green & Co.,

m?)-

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

3^

method, the analysis of free associations, dreams, errors,
transference, is an approach by which hitherto “private”
data, open only to self-knowledge and introspection, are
made “public” and demonstrable in the communication
between subject and analyst. The psychoanalytic method’
has thus gained access to phenomena which do not other-
wise lend themselves to observation. At the same time it
uncovered many emotional experiences which could not be
recognized even by introspection because they were re-
pressed, divorced from consciousness.*®

At the beginning of his studies Freud was mainly inter-
ested in neurotic symptoms. But the more psychoanalysis
.advanced, the more apparent it became that a neurotic
symptom can be understood only by understanding the
character structure in which it is embedded. The neurotic
character, rather than the symptom, became the main sub-
ject matter of psychoanalytic theory and therapy. In his
pursuit of the study of the neurotic character Freud laid
new foundations for a science of character (characterology),
which in recent centuries had been neglected by psychology
and left to the novelists and playwrights.

Psychoanalytic characterology, though still in its infancy,
is indispensable to the development of ethical theory. All
the virtues and vices with which traditional ethics deals
must remain ambiguous because they often signify by the
same word different and partly contradictory human atti-
tudes; they lose their ambiguity only if they are understood
in connection with the character structure of the person
of whom a virtue or vice is predicated. A virtue isolated

**Cf. Dewey, Problems of Men, pp. 250-272, and Philip B. Rice,
“Objectivity of Value Judgment and Types of Value Judgment,” joiunaJ
of Philosophy, XV (1934), 5-14. 533 - 543 -

ETHICS AND PSYCHOANALYSIS

33

from the context of character may turn out to be nothing
valuable (as, for instance, humility caused by fear or com-
pensating for suppressed arrogance) ; or a vice will be viewed
in a different light if understood in the context of the whole
character (as, for instance, arrogance as an expression of
insecurity and self-depreciation). This consideration is ex-
ceedingly relevant to ethics; it is insufficient and misleading
to deal with isolated virtues and vices as separate traits. Tlie
subject matter of ethics is character, and only in reference
to the character structure as a whole can value statements
be made about single traits or actions. The virtuous or the
vicious character, rather than single virtues or vices, is the
true subject matter of ethical inquiry.

No less significant for ethics is the psychoanalytic con-
cept of unconscious motivation. While this concept, in a
general form, dates back to Leibniz and Spinoza, Freud was
the first to study unconscious strivings empirically and in
great detail, and thus to lay the foundations of a theory of
human motivations. The evolution of ethical thought is
characterized by the fact that value judgments concerning
human conduct were made in reference to the motivations
underlying the act rather than to the act itself. Hence
the understanding of unconscious motivation opens up a
new dimension for ethical inquiry. Not only “what is low-
est,” as Freud remarked, “but also what is highest in the
Ego can be unconscious”*^ and be the strongest motive
for action which ethical inquiry can not afford to ignore.

In spite of the great possibilities which psychoanalysis
provides for the scientific study of values, Freud and his
school have not made the most productive use of their

** S. Freud, The Ego and the Id, Joan Riviere & V. Woolf tr. (London:
Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psychoanalysis, 1935), p. 133.

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

method for the inquiry into ethical problems; in fact, they
did a great deal to confuse ethical issues. The confusion
springs from Freud’s relativistic position, which assumes
that psychology can help us to understand the motivation
of value judgments but can not help in establishing the
validity of the value judgments themselves.

Freud’s relativism is indicated most distinctly in his
theory of the Super-Ego (conscience). According to this
theory, anything can become the content of conscience if
only it happens to be part of the system of commands and
prohibitions embodied in the father's Super-Ego and the
cultural tradition. Conscience in this view is nothing but
internalized authority. Freud’s analysis of the Super-Ego
is the analysis of the “authoritarian conscience” only.“

A good illustration of this relativistic view is the article
by T. Schroeder entitled “Attitude of One Amoral Psychol-
ogist.” The author comes to the conclusion that “every
moral valuation is the product of emotional morbidity-
intense conflicting impulses— derived from past emotional
experiences,” and that the amoral psychiatrist “will replace
moral standards, values and judgments by the psychiatric
and psycho-evolutionary classification of the moralist im-
pulses and intellectual methods.” The author then proceeds
to confuse the issue by stating that “the amoral evolutionary
psychologists have no absolute or eternal rules of right or
wrong about anything,” thus making it appear as if science
did make “absolute and eternal” statements.

Slightly different from Freud’s Super-Ego theory is his
view that morality is essentially a reaction formation against

more detailed discussion of conscience is to be found in Chapter
IV.

**The Psychoanalytic Review, XXXI, No. 3 (July, 1944), 529-53?*

ETHICS AND PSYCHOANALYSIS 35

the evil inherent in man. He proposes that the child's
sexual strivings are directed toward the parent of the op-
posite sex; that in consequence he hates the parental rival
of the same sex, and that hostility, fear, guilt thus neces-
sarily spring from this early situation (Oedipus complex).
This theory is the secularized version of the concept of
^‘original sin.” Since these incestuous and murderous im-
pulses are integral parts of man's nature, Freud reasoned,
man had to develop ethical norms in order to make social
life possible. Primitively, in a system of tabus, and later on,
in less primitive systems of ethics, man established norms
of social behavior in order to protect the individual and the
group from the dangers of these impulses.

However, Freud's position is by no means consistently
relativistic. He displays a passionate faith in truth as the
aim toward which man must strive, and he believes in man's
capacity thus to strive since he is by nature endowed with
reason. This anti-relativistic attitude is clearly expressed in
his discussions of “a philosophy of life.” He opposes the
theory that truth is '^only the product of our own needs
and desires, as they are formulated under varying external
conditions”; in his opinion such an “anarchistic” theory
“breaks down the moment it comes in contact with practi-
cal life.” His belief in the power of reason and its capacity
to unify mankind and to free man from the shackles of
superstition has the pathos characteristic of the Enlighten-
ment philosophy. This faith in truth underlies his concept
of psychoanalytic cure. Psychoanalysis is the attempt to un-
cover the truth about oneself. In this respect Freud con-
tinues the tradition of thought which, since Buddha and

Freud, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis, W. }. H.
Sprott, tr. (New York; W. W. Norton & Company, 1937), pp. 240-241.

4

HUMANISTIC ETHICS

36

Socrates, believes in truth as the power that makes man
virtuous and free, or— in Freud’s terminology— “healt^/'
'The aim of analytic cure is to replace the irrational (the id) ''
by reason (the ego^. The analytic situation may be defined
from this standpoint as one where two people— the analyst
and the patient— devote themselves to the search for truth.
The aim, of the cure is the restoring of health, and the
remedies are truth and reason. To have postulated a situa-
tion based upon radical honesty within a culture in which
such frankness is rare is perhaps the greatest expression of
Freud’s genius.

In his characterology, too, Freud presents a nonrelativistic
position, although only by implication. He assumes that the
libido development continues from the oral through the
anal and to the genital stage, and that in the healthy person
the genital orientation becomes predominant. Although
Freud did not refer to ethical values explicitly, there is an
implicit connection; the pregenital orientations, charac-
teristic of the dependent, greedy, and stingy attitudes, are
ethically inferior to the genital, that is, productive, mature
, character. Freud’s characterology thus implies that virtue is
the natural aim of man’s development. This development
can be blocked by specific and mostly extraneous circum-
stances and it can thus result in the formation of the
neurotic character. Normal growth, however, will produce
the mature, independent, productive character, capable of
loving and of working; in the last analysis, then, to Freud
health and virtue are the same.

But this connection between character and ethics is not
made explicit. It had to remain confused, partly because of
the contradiction between Freud’s relativism and the im-
plicit recognition of humanistic ethical values and partly

ETHICS AND PSYCHOANALYSIS

37

because, while concerned mainly with the neurotic char-
acter, Freud devoted little attention to the analysis and
description of the genital and mature character.

The following chapter, after reviewing the “human situa-
tion” and its significance for character development, leads
up to a detailed analysis of the equivalent of the genital
character, the “productive orientation.”

CHAPTER III

Human Nature and Character

That I am a man,

this I share with other men.

That I see and hear and

that I eat and drink

is what all animals do likewise.

But that I am I is only mine

and belongs to me

apd to nobody else;

to no other man

not to an angel nor to God—

except inasmuch

as I am one with Him.

—Master Eckhart,
Fragments

1. The Human Situation

One individual represents the human race. He is one
specific example of the human species. He is “he” and he is
“all”; he is an individual with his peculiarities and in this
sense unique, and at the same time he is representative of
all characteristics of the human race. His individual per-
sonality is determined by the peculiarities of human exist-

38

THE HUMAN SITUATION 39

ence common to all men. Hence the discussion of the
human situation must precede that of personality.

A. man’s biological weakness

YPie first element which difiEerentiates human from ani-
mal existence is a negative one: the relative absence in man
of instinctive regulation in the process of adaptation to the
surrounding world. The mode of adaptation of the animal
to its world remains the same throughout; if its instinctual
equipment is no longer fit to cope successfully with a
changing environment the species will die ou^The animal
can adapt itself to changing conditions by changing itself—
autopl gstically ; not by changing its environment— alloplas-
tically. In this fashion it lives harmoniously, not intKe’
seiiSe of absence of struggle but in the sense that its in-
herited equipment makes it a fixed aitd unchanging part of
its world; it either fits in or dies out.

The less complete and fixed the instinctual equipment of
animals, the more developed is the brain and therefore the
ability to learn. The emergence of man can be defined as
occurring at the point in tiie process of evolution where
instinctive adaptation has reached its minimum. But he
emerges with new qualities which differentiate him from
the animal: [)iis awareness of himself as a separate entity,
his ability to remember the past, to visualize the future, and
to denote objects and acts by symbols; his reason to con-
ceive and understand the world; and his imagination through
which he reaches far beyond the range of his senseg^ Man
is the most helpless of all animals, but this very biological
weakness is the basis for his strength, the prime cause for
the development of his specifically human qualities.

40

HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

B. THE EXISTENTIAL AND THE HISTORICAL
DICHOTOMIES IN MAN

Self-awareness, reason, and imagination have disrupted
the "harmony” which characterizes animal existence. Their
emergence has made man into an anomaly, into the freak
of the universe. He is part of nature, subject to her physical
laws and unable to change them, yet he transcends the rest
of nature. He is set apart while being a part; he is homeless,
yet chained to the home he shares with all creatures. Cast
into this world at an accidental place and time, he is forced
out of it, again accidentally. Being aware of himself, he
realizes his powerlessness and the limitations of his exist-
ence. He visualizes his own end: death. Never is he free
from the dichotomy of his existence: he cannot rid himself
of his mind, even if he should want to; he cannot rid him-
self of his body as long as he is alive— and his body makes
him want to be alive.

Reason, man’s blessing, is also his curse; it forces him to
cope everlastingly with the task of solving an insoluble
dichotomy. Human existence is different in this respect
from that of all other organisms; it is in a state of constant
and unavoidable disequilibrium. Man’s life cannot “be
lived” by repeating the pattern of his species; he must live.
Man is the only animal that can be bored, that can be dis-
contented, that can feel evicted from paradise. Man is the
only animal for whom his own existence is a problem which
he has to solve and from which he cannot escape. He
cannot go back to the prehuman state of harmony with
nature; he must proceed to develop his reason until he
becomes the master of nature, and of himself.

The emergence of reason has created a dichotomy within

THE HUMAN SITUATION 41

man which forces him to strive everlastingly for new solu-
tions. The dynamism of his history is intrinsic to the exist-
ence of reason which causes him to develop and, through
it, to create a world of his own in which he can feel at home
with himself and his fellow men. Every stage he reaches
leaves him discontented and perplexed, and this very per-
plexity urges him to move toward new solutions. There is
no innate “drive for progress” in man; it is the contradic-
tion in his existence that makes him proceed on the way he
set out. Having lost paradise, the unity with nature, he has
become the eternal wanderer (Odysseus, Oedipus, Abra-
ham, Faust); he is impelled to go forward and with ever-
lasting effort to make the unknown known by filling in
with answers the blank spaces of his knowledge. He must
give account to himself of himself, and of the meaning of
his existence. He is driven to overcome this inner split, tor-
mented by a craving for “absoluteness,” for another kind
of harmony which can lift the curse by which he was sepa-
rated from nature, from his fellow men, and from himself.

This split in man’s nature leads to dichotomies which I
call existential ^ because they are rooted in the very exist-
ence of man; they are contradictions which man cannot
annul but to which he can react in various ways, relative to
his character and his culture.

The most fundamental existential dichotomy is that be-
tween life and death. The fact that we have to die is un-
alterable for man. Man is aware of this fact, and this very

^ I have used this term without reference to the terminology of
existentialism. During the revision of the manuscript I became acquainted
with Jean-Paul Sartre’s Flies and his Is Existentialism a Humanism? I do
not feel that any changes or additions are warranted. Although there are
certain points in common, I cannot judge the degree of agreement since
I have had as yet no access to Sartre’s main philosophical opus.

42 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

awareness profoundly influences his life. But death remains
the very opposite of life and is extraneous to, and incom-
patible with, the experience of living. All knowledge about
death does not alter the fact that death is not a meaningful
part of life and that there is nothing for us to do but to
accept the fact of death; hence, as far as our life is con-
cerned, defeat. “All that man has will he give for his life”
and “the wise man,” as Spinoza says, “thinks not of death
but of life.” Man has tried to negate this dichotomy by
ideologies, e.g., the Christian concept of immortality, which,
by postulating an immortal soul, denies the tragic fact that
man's life ends with death.

That man is mortal results in another dichotomy: while
every human being is the bearer of all human potentialities,
the short span of his life does not permit their full realiza-
tion under even the most favorable circumstances. Only if
the life span of the individual were identical with that of
mankind could he participate in the human development
which occurs in the historical process. Man's life, beginning
and ending at one accidental point in the evolutionary
process of the race, conflicts tragically with the individual's
claim for the realization of all of his potentialities. Of this
contradiction between what he could realize and what he
actually doestealize he has, at least, a dim perception. Here,
too, ideologies tend to reconcile or deny the contradiction
by assuming that the fulfillment of life takes place after
death, or that one's own historical period is the final and
crowning achievement of mankind. Still another maintains
that the meaning of life is not to be found in its fullest
unfolding but in social service and social duties; that the
development, freedom, and happiness of the individual is
subordinate to or even irrelevant in comparison wiib the

THE HUMAN SITUATION 43

welfare of the state, the community, or whatever else may
symbolize eternal power, transcending the individual.

Man is alone and he is related at the same time. He is
alone inasmuch as he is a unique entity, not identical with
anyone else, and aware of his self as a separate entity. He
must be alone when he has to judge or to make decisions
solely by the power of his reason. And yet he cannot bear
to be alone, to be unrelated to his fellow men. His happi-
ness depends on the solidarity he feels with his fe.jow men,
with past and future generations.

Radically diflFerent from existential dichotomies are the
many historical contradictions in individual and social life
which are not a necessary part of human existence but are
man made and soluble, soluble either at the time they occur
or at a later period of human history. The contemporary
contradiction between an abundance of technical means for
material satisfaction and the incapacity to use them ex-
clusively for peace and the welfare of the people is soluble;
it is not a necessary contradiction but one due to man’s
lack of courage and wisdom. The institution of slavery in
ancient Greece may be an example of a relatively insoluble
contradiction, the solution of which could be achieved only
at a later period of history when the material basis for the
equality of man was established.

The distinction between existential and historical dichot-
omies is significant because their confusion has far-reaching
implications. Those who were interested in upholding the
historical contradictions were eager to prove that they were
existential dichotomies and thus unalterable. They tried to
convince man that “what must not be cannot be” and that
he had to resign himself to the acceptance of his tragic fate.
But this attempt to confuse these two types of contradic-

44 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

tions was not sufficient to keep man from trying to solve
them. It is one of the peculiar qualities of the human mind
that, when confronted with a contradiction, it cannot re-
main passive. It is set in motion with the aim of resolving
the contradiction. All human progress is due to this fact. If ,
man is to be prevented from reacting to his awareness of
contradictions by action, the very existence of these contra-
dictions must be denied. To harmonize, and thus negate,
contradictions is the function of rationalizations in indi-
vidual life and of ideologies (socially patterned rationaliza-
tions) in social life. However, if man’s mind could be satis-
fied only by rational answers, by the truth, these ideologies
would remain ineffective. But it is also one of his peculiari-
ties to accept as truth the thoughts shared by most of the
members of his culture or postulated by powerful authori-
ties. If the harmonizing ideologies are supported by con-
sensus or authority, man’s mind is appeased although he
himself is not entirely set at rest.

Man can react to historical contradictions by annulling
them through his own action; but he cannot annul existen-
tial dichotomies, although he can react to them in different
ways. He can appease his mind by soothing and harmo-
nizing ideologies. He can try to escape from his inner rest-
lessness by ceaseless activity in pleasure or business. He can
try to abrogate his freedom and to turn himself into an
instrument of powers outside himself, submerging his self
in them. But he remains dissatisfied, anxious, and restless.
There is only one solution to his problem: to face the truth,
to acknowledge his fundamental aloneness and sohtude in
a universe indifferent to his fate, to recognize that there is
no power transcending him which can solve his problem

THE HUMAN SITUATION 45

for him. Man must accept the responsibility for himself
and the fact that only by using his own powers can he give
meaning to his life. But meaning does not imply certainty;
indeed, the quest for certainty blocks the search for mean-
ing. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to un-
fold his powers. If he faces the truth without panic he will
recognize that there is no meaning to life except the mean-
ing man gives his life by the unfolding of his powers, by
living productively; and that only constant vigilance, ac-
tivity, and effort can keep us from failing in the one task
that matters— the full development of our powers within
th^dknitations'serljy’ the laws of our existence. Man will
never cease to be perplexed, to wonder, and to raise new
questions. Only if he recognizes the human situation, the
dichotomies inherent in his existence and his capacity to
unfold his powers, will he be able to succeed in his task:
to be himself and for himself and to achieve happiness by
the full realization of those faculties which are peculiarly
his— of reason, love, and productive work.

After having discussed the existential dichotomies in-
herent in man’s existence we can return to the statement
made in the beginning of this chapter that the discussion
of the human situation must precede that of personality.
'Tlie more precise meaning of this statement can be made
apparent by stating that psychology must be based on an
anthropologico-philosophical concept of human existence.

The most striking feature in human behavior is the tre-
mendous intensity of passions and strivings which man
displays. Freud more than anyone else recognized this fact
and attempted to explain it in terms of the mechanistic-
naturalistic thinking of his time. He assumed that those

46 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

passions which were not thf obvious expressions of the in-
stinct of self-preservation and of the sexual instinct (or as
he formulated it later of Eros and the Death instinct) were
nevertheless only more indirect and complicated manifesta-
tions of these instinctual-biological drives. But brilliant as
his assumptions were they are not convincing in their de-
nial of the fact that a large part of man’s passionate striv-
ings cannot be explained by the force of his instincts. Even
if man’s hunger and thirst and his sexual strivings are com-
pletely satisfied “he” is not satisfied. In contrast to the ani-
mal his most compelling problems are not solved then, they
only begin. He strives for power, or for love, or for destruc-
tion, he risks his life for religious, for political, for human-
istic ideals, and these strivings are what constitutes and
characterizes the peculiarity of human life. Indeed, “man
does not live by bread alone.”

In contrast to Freud’s mechanistic-naturalistic explana-
tion this statement has been interpreted to mean that man
has an intrinsic religious need which cannot be explained by
his natural existence but must be explained by something
transcending him and which is derived from supernatural
powers. However, the latter assumption is unnecessary since
the phenomenon can be explained by the full understand-
ing of the human situation.

The disharmony of man’s existence generates needs which
far transcend those of his animal origin. These needs re-
sult in an imperative drive to restore a unity and equi-
librium between himself and the rest of nature. He makes
the attempt to restore this unity and equilibrium in the
first place in thought by constructing an all-inclusive mental
picture of the world which serves as a frame of reference
from which he can derive an answer to the question of

THE HUMAN SITUATION 47

where he stands and what he ought to do. But such thought'
systems are not sufficient. If man were only a disembodied
intellect his aim would be achieved by a comprehensive
thought-system. But since he is an entity endowed with
a body as well as a mind he has to react to the dichotomy
of his existence not only in thinking but also in the process
of living, in his feelings and actions. He has to strive for the
experience of unity and oneness in all spheres of his being
in order to find a new equilibrium. Hence any satisfying
system of orientation implies not only intellectual elements
but elements of feeling and sense to be realized in action in
all fields of human endeavor. Devotion to an aim, or an
idea, or a power transcending man such as God, is an ex-
pression of this need for completeness in the process of
living.

The answers given to man's need for an orientation and
for devotion differ widely both in content and in form.
There are primitive systems such as animism and totemism
in which natural objects or ancestors represent answers to
man's quest for meaning. There are non-theistic systems
like Buddhism, which are usually called religious although
in their original form there is no concept of God. There are
philosophical systems, like Stoicism, and there are the mono-
theistic religious systems which give an answer to man's
quest for meaning in reference to the concept of God. In
discussing these various systems, we are hampered by a
terminological difficulty. We could call them all religious
systems were it not for the fact that for historical reasons
the word “religious” is identified with a theistic system, a
system centered around God, and we simply do not have
a word in our language to denote that which is common to
both theistic and non-theistic S3^teins— that is, to all sys-

48 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

terns of thought which try to give an answer to the human
quest for meaning and to man’s attempt to make sense of
his own existence. For lack of a better word I therefore
call such systems “frames of orientation and devotion.”

The point, however, I wish to emphasize is that there are
many other strivings which are looked upon as entirely
secular which are nevertheless rooted in the same need
from which religious and philosophical systems spring. Let
us consider what we observe in our time: We see in our
own culture millions of people devoted to the attainment
of success and prestige. We have seen and still see in other
cultures fanatical devotion of adherents to dictatorial sys-
tems of conquest and domination. We are amazed at the
intensity of those passions which is often stronger than
even the drive for self-preservation. We are easily deceived
by the secular contents of these aims and explain them as
outcomes of sexual or other quasi-biological strivings. But
is it not apparent that the intensity and fanaticism with
which these secular aims are pursued is the same as we
find in religions; that all these secular systems of orienta-
tion and devotion differ in content but not in the basic
need to which they attempt to offer answers? In our cul-
ture the picture is so particularly deceptive because most
people “believe” in monotheism while their actual devo-
tion belongs to systems which are, indeed, much closer to
totemism and worship of idols than to any form of Chris-
tianity.

But we must go one step further. The understanding of
the “religious” nature of these culturally patterned secular
strivings is the key to the understanding of neuroses and
irrational strivings. We have to consider the latter as an-
swers— individual answers— to man’s quest for orientation

THE HUMAN SITUATION 49

and devotion. A person whose experience is determined by
“his fixation to his family,” who is incapable of acting inde-
pendently is in fact a worshiper of a primitive ancestor cult,
and the only difference between him and millions of an-
cestor worshipers is that his system is private and not cul-
turally patterned. Freud recognized the connection between
religion and neurosis and explained religion as a form of
neurosis, while we arrive at the conclusion that a neurosis
is to be explained as a particular form of religion differing
mainly by its individual, non-patterned characteristics. Tlie
conclusion to which wc arc led with regard to the general
problem of human motivation is that while the need for a
system of orientation and devotion is common to all men,
the particular contents of the systems which satisfy this
need differ. These differences are differences in value; the
mature, productive, rational person will choose a system
which permits him to be mature, productive and rational.
ITie person who has been blocked in his development must
revert to primitive and irrational systems which in turn pro-
long and increase his dependence and irrationality. He will
remain on the level which mankind in its best representa-
tives has already overcome thou.sands of years ago.

Because the need for a system of orientation and devo-
tion is an intrinsic part of human existence we can under-
stand the intensity of this need. Indeed, there is no other
more powerful source of energy in man. Man is not free to
choose between having or not having “ideals,” but he is
free to choose between different kinds of ideals, between
being devoted to the worship of power and destruction and
being devoted to reason and love.' All men are “idealists”
and are striving fdf "something beyond the attainment of
physical satisfaction. They differ in the kinds of ideals they

50 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

believe in. The very best but; also the most satanic manifes-
tations of man’s mind are expressions not of his flesh but of
this “idealism,” of his spirit. Therefore a relativistic view
which claims that to have some ideal or some religious feel-
ing is valuable in itself is dangerous and erroneous. We
must understand every ideal including those which appear
in secular ideologies as expressions of the same human need
and we must judge them with respect to their truth, to the
extent to which they are conducive to the unfolding of
man’s powers and to the degree to which they are a real an-
swer to man’s need for equilibrium and harmony in his
world. We repeat then that the understanding of human
motivation must proceed from the understanding of the
human situation.

2. Personality

Men are alike, for they share the human situation and
its inherent existential dichotomies; they are unique in the
speeific way they solve their human problem. The infinite
diversity of personalities is in itself characteristic of human
existence.

By personality I understand the totality of inherited and
acquired psychic qualities which are characteristic of one
individual and which make the individual unique. The
difference between inherited and acquired qualities is on
the whole synonymous with the difference between tem-
perament, gifts, and all constitutionally given psychic quali-
ties on the one hand and character on the other. ’S^ile
differences in temperament have no ethical significance, dif-
ferences in character constitute the real problem of ethics;
they are expressive of the degree to which an individual has

PERSONALITY

51

succeeded in the art of living. In order to avoid the con-
fusion which prevails in the usage of the terms ''tempera-
ment'' and "character" we shall begin with a brief discussion
of temperament.

A. TEMPERAMENT

Hippocrates distinguished four temperaments: choleric,
sanguine, melancholic, and phlegmatic. The sanguine and
choleric temperaments are modes of reaction which are
characterized by easy excitability and quick alternation of
interest, the interests being feeble in the former and intense
in the latter. The phlegmatic and melancholic tempera-
ments, on the contrary, are characterized by persistent but
slow excitability of interest, the interest in the phlegmatic
being feeble and in the melancholic intense.^ In Hippoc-
rates' view, these different modes of reaction were con-
nected with different somatie sources. (It is interesting to
note that in popular usage only the negative aspects of these
temperaments are remembered; cholerie today means easily
angered; melancholic, depressed; sanguine, overoptimistie;
and phlegmatic, too slow.) These categories of tempera-
ment were used by most students of temperament until the
time of Wundt. The most important modern concepts of
types of temperament are those of Jung, Kretschmer, and
Sheldon.^

2 The four temperaments were symbolized by the four elements: chol-
eric = fire = warm and dry, quick and strong; sanguine = air = warm
and moist, quick and weak; phlegmatic = water = cold and moist, slow
and weak; melancholic = earth = cold and dry, slow and strong.

* Cf. also Charles William Morris' application of types of temperament
to cultural entities in Paths of Life (New York; Harper & Brothers,

1942).

5

52 HtMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

Of the importance of further research in this field, par-
ticularly with regard to the correlation of temperament and
somatic processes, there can be no doubt. But it will be
necessary to distinguish clearly between character and tem-
perament because the confusion of the two concepts has
blocked progess in characterology as well as in the study of
temperament.

Temperament refers to the mode of reaction and is con-
stitutional and not changeable; character is essentially
formed by a person’s experiences, especially of those in early
life, and changeable, to some extent, by insights and new
kinds of experiences. If a person has a choleric tempera-
ment, for instance, his mode of reaction is “quick and
strong.” But what he is quick and strong about depends on
his kind of relatcdness, his character. If he is a productive,
just, loving person he will react quickly and strongly when
he loves, when he is enraged by injustice, and when he is
impressed by a new idea. If he is a .destructive or sadistic
character he will be quick and strong in his destructiveness
or in his cruelty.

Tlie confusion between temperament and character has
had serious consequences for ethical theory. Preferences
with regard to differences in temperament are mere matters
of subjective taste. But differences in character are ethically
of the most fundamental importance. An example may help
to clarify this point. Goering and Himmler were men of
different temperaments— the former a cyclothyme, the latter
a schizothyme. Hence, from the standpoint of a subjective
preference, an individual who is attracted by the cyclo-
thymic temperament would have “liked” Goering better
than Himmler, and vice versa. However, from the stand-
point of character, ^th men had one quality in common:

PERSONALITY

53

they were ambitious sadists. Hence, from an ethical stand-
point they were equally evil. Conversely, among productive
characteri., one might subjectively prefer a choleric to a
sanguine temperament; but such judgments would not con-
stitute judgments of the respective value of the two people."*

In the application of C. G. /ung’s concepts of tempera-
ment, those of “introvert” and “extrovert,” we often find
the same confusion. Those who prefer the extrovert tend
to describe the introvert as inhibited and neurotic; those
who prefer the introvert describe the extrovert as superficial
and lacking in perseverance and depth. The fallacy is to
compare a “good” person of one temperament with a “bad”
person of another temperament, and to ascribe the differ-
ence in value to the difference in temperament.

I think it is evident how this confusion between tempera-
nient and character has affected ethics. For, while it has led
to condemnation of whole races whose predominant tern-

*An indication of the confusion between temperament and character
is the fact that Kretschmer, although generally consistent in the usage of
the concept of temperament, gave his book the title Physique and Char-
acter instead of “Temperament and Physique." Sheldon, whose book has
the title of Varieties of Temperament, is nevertheless confused in the
clinical application of his temperament concept. His “temperaments"
contain pure traits of temperament mixed with traits of character as they
appear in persons of a certain temperament. If the majority of subjects
had not reached full emotional maturity, certain temperament types
among them will show certain character traits which have an affinity with
this temperament. A case in point is the trait of indiscriminate sociability
which Sheldon lists as one among the traits in the viscerotonic tempera-
ment. But only the immature, nonproductive viscerotonic will have an
indiscriminate sociability; the ^ productive viscerotonic will have a dis-
criminate sociability. The trait listed by Sheldon is not a temperament
trait but a character trait which appears frequently associated with a cer-
tain temperament and physique* provided that most subjects belong to the
same level of maturity. Since Sheldon's method is one of relying entirely
on statistical correlation of ‘‘traits" with physique, with no attempt at a
theoretical analysis of the trait syndrome, his mistake was hardly avoidable.

54 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

peraments differ from our own, it has also supported rela-
tivism by the assumption that* differences in character are
as much differences in taste as those of temperament.

For purposes of discussing ethical theory, then, we must
turn to the concept of character, which is both the subject
matter of ethical judgment and the object of man’s ethical
development. And here, too, we must first clear the ground
of traditional confusions which, in this case, center around
the differences between the dynamic and the behavioristic
concept of character.

B. CHARACTER

(i) The Dynamic Concept of Character

Character traits were and are considered by behavioris-
tically orientated psychologists to be synonymous with be-
havior traits. From this standpoint character is defined as
“the pattern of behavior characteristic for a given individ-
ual,” ® while other authors like William McDougall, R. G.
Gordon, and Kretschmer have emphasized the conative and
dynamic element of character traits.

Freud developed not only the first but also the most con-
sistent and penetrating theory of character as a system of
strivings which underlie, but are not identical with, be-
havior. In order to appreciate Freud’s dynamic concept of
character, a comparison between behavior traits and char-
acter traits will be helpful. Behavior traits are described in
terms of actions which are observable by a third person.
Thus, for instance, the behavior trait “being courageous”

<^Leland E. Hinsie and Jacob Shatzky, Psychiatric Dictionary. (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1940.)

PERSONALITY 55

would be defined as behavior which is directed toward
reaching a certain goal without being deterred by risks to
one's comfort, freedom, or life. Or parsimony as a behavior
trait would be defined as behavior which aims at saving
money or other material things. However, if we inquire into
the motivation and particularly into the unconscious moti-
vation of such behavior traits wc find that the behavior trait
covers numerous and entirely different character traits.
Courageous behavior may be motivated by ambition so that
a person will risk his life in certain situations in order to
satisfy his craving for being admired; it may be motivated
by suicidal impulses which drive a person to seek danger
because, consciously or unconsciously, he does not value his
life and wants to destroy himself; it may be motivated by
sheer lack of imagination so that a person acts courageously
because he is not aware of the danger awaiting him; finally,
it may be determined by genuine devotion to the idea or
aim for which a person acts, a motivation which is conven-
tionally assumed to be the basis of courage. Superficially
the behavior in all these instances is the same in spite of the
different motivations. I say “superficially” because if one
can observe such behavior minutely one finds that the dif-
ference in motivation results also in subtle differences in
behavior. An officer in battle, for instance, will behave quite
differently in different situations if his courage is motivated
by devotion to an idea rather than by ambition. In the first
case he would not attack in certain situations if the risks are
in no proportion to the tactical ends to be gained. If, on the
other hand, he is driven by vanity, this passion may make
him blind to the dangers threatening him and his soldiers.
His behavior trait “courage” in the latter case is obviously
a very ambiguous asset. Another illustration is parsimony.

56 _ HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

A person may be economical because his economic circum-
stances make it necessary; or* he may be parsimonious be-
cause he has a stingy character, which makes saving an aim
for its own sake regardless of the realistic necessity. Here,
too, the motivation would make some difference with re-
gard to behavior itself. In the first case, the person would be
very well able to discern a situation where it is wise to save
from one in which it is wiser to spend money. In the latter
case he will save regardless of the objective need for it.
Another factor which is determined by the difference in
motivation refers to the prediction of behavior. In the case
of a “courageous” soldier motivated by ambition we may
predict that he will behave courageously only if his courage
can be rewarded. In the case of the soldier who is coura-
geous because of devotion to his cause we can predict that
the question of whether or not his courage will find recog-
nition will have little influence on his behavior.

Closely related to Freud’s concept of unconscious moti-
vation is his theory of the conative nature of character
traits. He recognized something that the great novelists and
dramatists had always known: that, as Balzac put it, the
study of character deals with “the forces by which man is
motivated”; that the way a person acts, feels, and thinks is to
a large extent determined by the specificity of his character
and is not merely the result of rational responses to realistic
situations; that “man’s fate is his character.” Freud recog-
nized the dynamic quality of character traits and that the
character structure of a person represents a particular form
in which energy is canalized in the process of living.

Freud tried to account for this dynamic nature of char-
acter traits by combining his characterology with his libido
theory. In accordance with the type of materialistic thinking

PERSONALITY

57

prevalent in the natural sciences of the late nineteenth
century, which assumed the energy in natural and psychical
phenomena to be a substantial not a relational entity, Freud
believed that the sexual drive was the source of energy of
the character. By a number of complicated and brilliant
assumptions he explained different character traits as “sub-
limations” of, or “reaction formations” against, the various
forms of the sexual drive. He interpreted the dynamic na-
ture of character traits as an expression of their libidinous
source.

The progress of psychoanalytic theory led, in line with
the progress of the natural and social sciences, to a new
concept which was based, not on the idea of a primarily
isolated individual, but on the relationship of man to
others, to nature, and to himself. It was assumed that this
very relationship governs and regulates the energy manifest
in the passionate strivings of man. H. S. Sullivan, one of
the pioneers of this new view, has accordingly defined psy-
choanalysis as a “study of interpersonal relations.”

The theory presented in the following pages follows
Fieud’s characterology in essential points: in the assump-
tion that character traits underlie behavior and must be
inferred from it; that they constitute forces which, though
powerful, the person may be entirely unconscious of. It
follows Freud also in the assumption that the fundamental
entity in character is not the single character trait but the
total character organization from which a number of single
character traits follow. These character traits arc to be
understood as a syndrome which results from a particular
organization or, as I shall call it, orientation of character.
I shall deal only with a very limited number of character
traits which follow immediately from the underlying orien-

58 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

tation. A number of other character traits could be dealt
with similarly, and it could be shown that they are also
direct outcomes of basic orientations or mixtures of such
primary traits of character with those of temperament.
However, a great number of others conventionally listed as
character traits would be found to be not character traits
in our sense but pure temperament or mere behavior traits.

The main difference in the theory of character proposed
here from that of Freud is that the fundamental basis of
character is not seen in various types of libido organization
but in specific kinds of a person’s rdatcdn gss to th ejKoyld.
In ffie process of living, man relates himself to the world
(1) by acquiring and assimilating things, and (2) by re-
lating himself to people (and himself). The former I shall
call the process of assimilation; the latter, that of socializa-
tion. Both forms of relatedness are “open” and not, as with
the animal, instinctively determined. Man can acquire
things by receiving or taking them from an outside source
or by producing them through his own effort. But he must
acquire and assimilate them in some fashion in order to
satisfy his needs. Also, man cannot live alone and unrelated
to others. He has to associate with others for defense, for
work, for sexual satisfaction, for play, for the upbringing
of the young, for the transmission of knowledge and ma-
terial possessions. But beyond that, it is necessary for him to
be related to others, one with them, part of a group. Com-
plete isolation is unbearable and incompatible with sanity.
Again man can relate himself to others in various ways: he
can love or hate, he can compete or cooperate; he can build
a social system based on equality or authority, liberty or
oppression; but he must be related in some fashion and the
particular form of relatedness is expressive of his character.

PERSONALITY

59

These orientations, by which the individual relates him-
self to the world, constitute the core of his character; char-
acter can be defined as the (relatively permanent) form in
which human energy is canalized in the process of assimila-
tion and socialization, This canalization of psychic energy
has a very significant biological function. Since man’s ac-
tions are not determined by innate instinctual patterns, life
would be precarious, indeed, if he had to make a deliberate
decision each time he acted, each time he took a step. On
the contrary, many actions must be performed far more
quickly than conscious deliberation allows. Furthermore, if
all behavior followed from deliberate decision, many more
inconsistencies in action would occur than arc compatible
with proper functioning. According to behavioristic think-
ing, man learns to react in a semiautomatic fashion by
developing habits of action and thought which can be
understood in terms of conditioned reflexes. While this
view is correct to a certain extent, it ignores the fact that
the most deeply rooted habits and opinions which are
characteristic of a person and resistant to change grow from
his character structure: they are expressive of the particular
form in which energy has been canalized in the character
structure. Tlie character system can be considered the
human substitute for the instinctive apparatus of the ani-
mal. Once energy is canalized in a certain way, action takes
place “true to character.” A particular character may be
undesirable ethically, but at least it permits a person to act
fairly consistently and to be relieved of the burden of
having to make a new and deliberate decision every time.
He can arrange his life in a way which is geared to his char-
acter and thus create a certain degree of compatibility be-
tween the inner and the outer situation. Moreover, character

6o HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

has also a selective function with regard to a person's ideas
and values. Since to most people ideas seem to be inde-
pendent of their emotions and wishes and the result of
logical deduction, they feel that their attitude toward the
world is confirmed by their ideas and judgments when actu-
ally these are as much a result of their character as their
actions are. This confirmation in turn tends to stabilize their
character structure since it makes the latter appear right
and sensible.

Not only has character the function of permitting the
individual to act consistently and “reasonably”; it is also
the basis for his adjustment to society. The character of
the child is molded by the character of its parents in re-
sponse to whom it develops. The parents and their methods
of child training in turn are determined by the social struc-
ture of their culture. The average family is the “psychic
agency” of society, and by adjusting himself to his family
the child acquires the character which later makes him
adjusted to the tasks he has to perform in social life. He
acquires that character which makes him want to do what
he has to do and the core of which he shares with most
members of the same social class or culture. The fact that
most members of a social class or culture share significant
elements of character and that one can speak of a “social
character” representing the core of a character structure
common to most people of a given culture shows the degree
to which character is formed by social and cultural patterns.
But from the social character we must differentiate the in-
dividual character in which one person differs from another
within the same culture. These differences are partly due to
the differences of the personalities of the parents and to the
differences, psychic and material, of the specific social envi-

PERSONALITY

6l

ronment in which the child grows up. But they are also due
to the constitutional differences of each individual, particu-
larly those of temperament. Genetically, the formation of
individual character is determined by the impact of its life
experiences, the individual ones and those which follow
from the culture, on temperament and physical constitu-
tion. Environment is never the same for two people, for
the difference in constitution makes them experience the
same environment in a more or less different way. Mere
habits of action and thought which develop as the result
of an individual’s conforming with the cultural pattern and
which are not rooted in the character of a person are easily
changed under the influence of new social patterns. If, on
the other hand, a person’s behavior is rooted in his char-
acter, it is charged with energy and changeable only if a
fundamental change in a person’s character takes place.

In the following analysis nonproductive orientations are
differentiated from the productive orientation.® It must be
noted that these concepts are “ideal-types,” not descrip-
tions of the character of a given individual. Furthermore,
while, for didactic purposes, they are treated here separately,
the character of any given person is usually a blend of all
or some of these orientations in which one, however, is
dominant. Finally, I want to state here that in the descrip-
tion of the nonproductive orientations only their negative
aspects are presented, while their positive aspects are dis-
cussed briefly in a later part of this chapter.''

• If the reader wishes to begin with a picture of all the types, he can
turn to the diagram on p. 1 1 1.

TSee pp. 112 ff. The following description of the non-productive orien-
tations, except that of the marketing, follows the clinical picture of the
pregenital character given by Freud and others. The theoretical difference
becomes apparent in the discussion of the hoarding character.

62

HUMAN NATXHIE AND CHARACTER

(2) Types of Character: The Nonproductive Orientations

(a) The Receptive Orientation

In the receptive orientation a person feels “the source
of all good” to be outside, and he believes that the only way
to get what he wants— be it something material, be it affec-
tion, love, knowledge, pleasure— is to receive it from that
outside source. In this orientation the problem of love is
almost exclusively that of “being loved” and not that of
loving. Such people tend to be indiscriminate in the choice
of their love objects, because being loved by anybody is
such an overwhelming experience for them that they “fall
for” anybody who gives them love or what looks like love.
They are exceedingly sensitive to any withdrawal or rebuff
they experience on the part of the loved person. Their
orientation is the same in the sphere of thinking; if intelli-
gent, they make the best listeners, since their orientation
is one of receiving, not of producing, ideas; left to them-
selves, they feel paralyzed. It is characteristic of these people
that their first thought is to find somebody else to give
them needed information rather than to make even the
smallest effort of their own. If religious, these persons have
a concept of God in which they expect everything from
God and nothing from their own activity. If not religious,
tiieir relationship to persons or institutions is very much
the same; they are always in search of a “magic helper.”
They show a particular kind of -loyalty, at the bottom of
which is the gratitude for the hand that feeds them and the
fear of ever losing it. Since they need many hands to feel
secure, they have to be loyal to numerous people. It is diffi-

PERSONALITY

63

cult for them to say “no,” and they are easily caught be-
tween conflicting loyalties and promises. Since they cannot
say “no,” they love to say “yes” to everything and every-
body, and the resulting paralysis of their critical abilities
makes them increasingly dependent on others.

They are dependent not only on authorities for knowl-
edge and help but on people in general for any kind of
support. They feel lost when alone because they feel that
they cannot do anything without help. This helplessness
is especially important with regard to those acts which by
their very nature can only be done alone— making decisions
and taking responsibility. In personal relationships, for in-
stance, they ask advice from the very person with regard to
whom they have to make a decision.

ITiis receptive type has great fondness for food and drink.
These persons tend to overcome anxiety and depression by
eating or drinking. The mouth is an especially prominent
feature, often the most expressive one; the lips tend to be
open, as if in a state of continuous expectation of being fed.
In their dreams, being fed is a frequent symbol of being
loved; being starved, an expression of frustration or disap-
pointment.

By and large, the outlook of people of this receptive
orientation is optimistic and friendly; they have a certain
confidence in life and its gifts, but they become anxious and
distraught when their “source of supply” is threatened. They
often have a genuine warmth and a wish to help others, but
doing things for others also assumes the function of se-
curing their favor.

64

HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

(b) The Exploitative Orientation

The exploitative orientation, like the receptive, has as its
basic premise the feeling that the source of all good is out-
side, that whatever one wants to get must be sought there,
and that one cannot produce anything oneself. The differ-
ence between the two, however, is that the exploitative
type does not expect to receive things from others as gifts,
but to take them away from others by foree or cunning.
This orientation extends to all spheres of aetivity.

In the realm of love and affeetion these people tend to
grab and steal. They feel attraeted only to people whom
they ean take away from somebody else. Attraetiveness to
them is eonditioned by a person’s attaehment to somebody
else; they tend not to fall in love with an unattaehed person.

We find the same attitude with regard to thinking and
intelleetual pursuits. Sueh people will tend not to produce
ideas but to steal them. This may be done directly in the
form of plagiarism or more subtly by repeating in different-
phraseology the ideas voiced by others and insisting they
are new and their own. It is a striking fact that frequently
people with great intelligence proceed in this way, although
if they relied on their own gifts they might well be able to
have ideas of their own. The laek of original ideas or inde-
pendent produetion in otherwise gifted people often has its
explanation in this eharacter orientation, rather than in any
innate lack of originality. The same statement holds true
with regard to their orientation to material things. Things
which they can take away from others always seem better
to them than anything they can produce themselves. They
use and exploit anybody and anything from whom or from

PERSONALITY

65

which they can squeeze something. Their motto is: “Stolen
fruits are sweetest.” Because they want to use and exploit
people, they “love” those who, explicitly or implicitly, are
promising objects of exploitation, and get “fed up” with
persons whom they have squeezed out. An extreme example
is the kleptomaniac who enjoys things only if he can s».cal
them, although he has the money to buy them.

This orientation seems to be symbolized by the biting
mouth which is often a prominent feature in such people.
It is not a play upon words to point out that they often
make “biting” remarks about others. Their attitude is col-
ored by a mixture of hostility and manipulation. Everyone
is an object of exploitation and is judged according to his
usefulness. Instead of the confidence and optimism which
characterizes the receptive type, one finds here suspicion
and cynicism, envy and jealousy. Since they are satisfied
only with things they can take away from others, they tend
to overrate what others have and underrate what is theirs.

(c) The Hoarding Orientation

While the receptive and exploitative types are similar
inasmuch as both expect to get things from the outside
world, the hoarding orientation is essentially different. This
orientation makes people have little faith in anything new
they might get from the outside world; their security is
based upon hoarding and saving, while spending is felt to
be a threat. They have surrounded themselves, as it were,
by a protective wall, and their main aim is to bring as much
as possible into this fortified position and to let as little as
possible out of it. Their miserliness refers to money and
material things as well as to feelings and thoughts. Love is

66 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

essentially a possession; they do uot give love but try t6 get
it by possessing the “beloved.” 'Fhe hoarding person often
shows a particular kind of faithfulness toward people and
even toward memories. Their sentimentality makes the past
appear as golden; they hold on to it and indulge in the
memories of bygone feelings and experiences. They know
everything but are sterile and incapable of productive
thinking.

One can recognize these people too by facial expressions
and gestures. Theirs is the tight-lipped mouth; their gestures
are characteristic of their withdrawn attitude. While those
of the receptive type are inviting and round, as it were, and
the gestures of the exploitative type are aggressive and
pointed, those of the hoarding type are angular, as if they
wanted to emphasize the frontiers between themselves and
the outside world. Another characteristic element in this
attitude is pedantic orderliness. The hoarder will be orderly
with things, thoughts, or feelings, but again, as with memory,
his orderliness is sterile and rigid. He cannot endure things
out of place and will automatically rearrange them. To him
the outside world threatens to break into his fortified posi-
tion; orderliness signifies mastering the world outside by
putting it, and keeping it, in its proper place in order to
avoid the danger of intrusion. His compulsive cleanliness
is another expression of his need to undo contact with the
outside world. Things beyond his own frontiers are felt to
be dangerous and “unclean”; he annuls the menacing con-
tact by compulsive washing, similar to a religious washing
ritual prescribed after contact with unclean things or people.
Things have to be put not only in their proper place but
also into their proper time; obsessive punctuality is char-
acteristic of the hoarding type; it is another form of master-

PERSONALITY

67

ing tfie outside world. If the outside world is experienced
as a threat to one’s fortified position, obstinacy is a logical
reaction. A constant “no” is the almost automatic defense
against intrusion; sitting tight, the answer to the danger of
being pushed. These people tend to feel that they possess
only a fixed quantity of strength, energy, or mental capacity,
and that this stock is diminished or exhausted by use and
can never be replenished. They cannot understand the self-
replenishing function of all living substance and that activ-
ity and the use of one’s powers increase strength while
stagnation paralyzes; to them, death and destruction have
more reality than life and growth. The act of creation is a
miracle of which they hear but in which they do not be-
lieve. Their highest values are order and security; their
motto: “'There is nothing new under the sun.” In their
relationship to others intimacy is a threat; either remoteness
or possession of a person means security. The hoarder tends
to be suspicious and to have a particular sense of justice
which in effect says: “Mine is mine and yours is yours.”

(d) The Marketing Orientation

'The marketing orientation developed as a dominant one
only in the modern era. In order to understand its nature
one must consider the economic function of the market in
modern society as being not only analogous to this char-
acter orientation but as the basis and the main condition
for its development in modern man.

Barter is one of the oldest economic mechanisms. 'The
traditional local market, however, is essentially different
from the market as it has developed in modern capitalism.
Bartering on a local market offered an opportunity to meet

6

68 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

for the purpose of exchanging commodities. Producers' and
customers became acquainted; they were relatively small
groups; the demand was more or less known, so that the
producer could produce for this specific demand.

The modem market ® is no longer a meeting place but a
mechanism characterized by abstract and impersonal de-
mand. One produces for this market, not for a known circle
of customers; its verdict is based on laws of supply and de-
mand; and it determines whether the commodity can be
sold and at what price. No matter what the use value of a
pair of shoes may be, for instance, if the supply is greater
than the demand, some shoes will be sentenced to economic
death; they might as well not have been produced at all.
The market day is the “day of judgment” as far as the ex-
change value of commodities is concerned.

The reader may object that this description of the market
is oversimplified. The producer does try to judge the de-
mand in advance, and under monopoly conditions even ob-
tains a certain degree of control over it. Nevertheless, the
regulatory function of the market has been, and still is, pre-
dominant enough to have a profound infiuence on the char-
acter formation of the urban middle class and, through the
latter’s social and cultural influence, on the whole popula-
tion. The market concept of value, the emphasis on ex-
change value rather than on use value, has led to a similar
concept of value with regard to people and particularly to
oneself. The character orientation which is rooted in the ex-
perience of oneself as a commodity and of one’s value as
exchange value I call the marketing orientation.

*Cf., fot the study of histoiy and function of the modern market, K.
Polanyi’s The Great Transformation (New York: Rinehart & Company,
> 944 )-

PERSONALITY

69

In our time the marketing orientation has been growing
rapidly, together with the development of a new market
that is a phenomenon of the last decades— the “personality
market.” Clerks and salesmen, business executives and doc-
tors, lawyers and artists all appear on this market. It is true
that their legal status and economic positions are different:
some are independent, charging for their services; others
are employed, receiving salaries. But all are dependent for
their material success on a personal acceptance by those
who need their services or who employ them.

The principle of evaluation is the same on both the per-
sonality and the commodity market: on the one, personal-
ities are offered for sale; on the other, commodities. Value
in both cases is their exchange value, for which use value is
a necessary but not a sufficient condition. It is true, our
economic system could not function if people were not
skilled in the particular work they have to perform and were
gifted only with a pleasant personality. Even the best bed-
side manner and the most beautifully equipped office on
Park Avenue would not make a New York doctor successful
if he did not have a minimum of medical knowledge and
skill. Even the most winning personality would not prevent
a secretary from losing her job unless she could type reason-
ably fast. However, if we ask what the respective weight of
skill and personality as a condition for success is, we find
that only in exceptional cases is success predominantly the
result of skill and of certain other human qualities like
honesty, decency, and integrity. Although the proportion
between skill and human qualities on the one hand and
“personality” on the other hand as prerequisites for success
varies, the “personality factor” always plays a decisive role.
Success depends largely on how well a person sells himself

yo HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

on the market, how well he gets his personality across, how
nice a “package” he is; whether he is “cheerful,” “sound,”
“aggressive,” “reliable,” “ambitious”; furthermore what his
family background is, what clubs he belongs to, and whether
he knows the right people. The type of personality required
depends to some degree on the special field in which a per-
son works. A stockbroker, a salesman, a secretary, a railroad
executive, a college professor, or a hotel manager must each
offer different kinds of personality that, regardless of their
differences, must fulfill one condition: to be in demand.

The fact that in order to have success it is not sufficient
to have the skill and equipment for performing a given task
but that one must be able to “put across” one’s personality
in competition with many others shapes the attitude toward
oneself. If it were enough for the purpose of making a
living to rely on what one knows and what one can do, one’s
self-esteem would be in proportion to one’s capacities, that
is, to one’s use value; but since success depends largely on
how one sells one’s personality, one experiences oneself as
a commodity or rather simultaneously as the seller and the
commodity to be sold. A person is not concerned with his
life and happiness, but with becoming salable. This feeling
might be compared to that of a commodity, of handbags on
a counter, for instance, could they feel and think. Each
handbag would try to make itself as “attractive” as possible
in order to attract customers and to look as expensive as
possible in order to obtain a higher price than its rivals. The
handbag sold for the highest price would feel elated, since
that would mean it was the most “valuable” one; the one
which was not sold would feel sad and convinced of its own
worthlessness. This fate might befall a bag which, though

PERSONALITY

excellent in appearance and usefulness, had the bad luck to
be out of date because of a change in fashion.

Like the handbag, one has to be in fashion on the per-
sonality market, and in order to be in fashion one has to
know what kind of personality is most in demand. Tliis
knowledge is transmitted in a general way throughout the
whole process of education, from kindergarten to college,
and implemented by the family. The knowlcdege acquired
at this early stage is not sufficient, however; it emphasizes
only certain general qualities like adaptability, ambition,
and sensitivity to the changing expectations of other people.
The more specific picture of the models for success one gets
elsewhere. The pictorial magazines, newspapers, and news-
reels show the pictures and life stories of the successful in
many variations. Pictorial advertising has a similar function.
The successful executive who is pictured in a tailor’s adver-
tisement is the image of how one should look and be, if
one is to draw down the “big money” on the contemporary
personality market.

Tlie most important means of transmitting the desired
personality pattern to the average man is the motion pic-
ture. The young girl tries to emulate the facial expression,
coiffure, gestures of a high-priced star as the most promising
way to success. The young man tries to look and be like
the model he sees on the screen. While the average citizen
has little contact with the life of the most successful people,
his relationship with the motion-picture stars is different.
It is true that he has no real contact with them either, but
he can see them on the screen again and again, can write
them and receive their autographed pictures. In contrast
to the time when the actor was socially despised but was

72 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

nevertheless the transmitter of the works of great poets to
his audience, our motion-picture stars have no great works
or ideas to transmit, but their function is to serve as the link
an average person has with the world of the “great.” Even
if he can not hope to become as successful as they are, he
can try to emulate them; they are his saints and beeause of
their suecess they embody the norms for living.

Since modern man experiences himself both as the seller
and as the commodity to be sold on the market, his self-
esteem depends on conditions beyond his control. If he is
“successful,” he is valuable; if he is not, he is worthless,
'rhe degree of inseeurity which results from this orientation
ean hardly be overestimated. If one feels that one’s ownt
value is not eonstituted primarily by the human qualities)
one possesses, but by one's sueeess on a eompetitive market
with ever-changing conditions, one’s self-esteem is bound to
be shaky and in eonstant need of confirmation by othersj
Hence one is driven to strive relentlessly for sueeess, and
any setbaek is a severe threat to one’s self-esteem; helpless-
ness. insecurity, and inferiority feelings art the result. If the
vicissitudes of the market are the judges of one’s value, the
sense of dignity and pride is destroyed.

But the problem is not only that of self-evaluation and
self-esteem but of one’s experience of oneself as an inde-
pendent entity, of one’s identity with oneself. As we shall
see later, the mature and productive individual derives his
feeling of identity from the experience of himself as the
agent who is one with his powers; this feeling of self can
be briefly expressed as meaning “I am what I do.” In the
marketing orientation man encounters his own powers as
commodities alienated from him. He is not one with them
but they are masked from him because what matters is not

PERSONALITY

73

his self-realiiation in the process of using them but his suc-
cess in the process of selling them. Both his powers and
what they create become estranged, something different from
himself, something for others to judge and to use; thus his
feeling of identity becomes as shaky as his self-esteem; it is
constituted by the sum total of roles one can play: “I am
as you desire me.”

Ibsen has expressed this state of selfhood in Peer Gynt:
Peer Gynt tries to discover his self and he finds that he is
like an onion— one layer after the other can be peeled off
and there is no core to be found. Since man cannot live
doubting his identity, he must, in the marketing orienta-
tion, find the conviction of identity not in reference to him-
self and his powers but in the opinion of others about him.
His prestige, status, success, the fact that he is known to
others as being a certain person are a substitute for the
genuine feeling of identity. This situation makes him utterly
dependent on the way others look at him and forces him to
keep up the role in which he onee had become suecessful.
If I and my powers are separated from each other then, in-
deed, is my self constituted by the price I fetch.

The way one experiences others is not different from the
way one experiences oneself.* Others are experienced as
commodities like oneself; they too do not present them-
selves but their salable part. The differenee between people
is reduced to a merely quantitative difference of being more
or less successful, attractive, hence valuable. This process
is not different from what happens to commodities on the
market. A painting and a pair of shoes can both be ex-
pressed in, and reduced to, their exchange value, their price;

®The fact that relationship to oneself and to others is conjunctive
will be explained in Chapter IV.

74 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

SO many pairs of shoes are “ee^ual” to one painting. In the
same way the difference between people is reduced to a
eommon element, their price on the market. Their indi-
viduality, that which is peculiar and unique in them, is
valueless and, in fact, a ballast. ITie meaning which the
word peculiar has assumed is quite expressive of this atti-
tude. Instead of denoting the greatest achievement of man
—that of having developed his individuality— it has become
almost synonymous with queer. Tlie word equality has also
changed its meaning. Tlie idea that all men are ereated
equal implied that all men have the same fundamental right
to be considered as ends in themselves and not as means.
Today, equality has become equivalent to interchangeability,
and is the very negation of individuality. Equality, instead
of being the condition for the development of each man’s
peculiarity, means the extinction of individuality, the “self-
lessness” characteristic of the marketing orientation. Equal-
ity was conjunctive with difference, but it has become
synonymous with “in-difference” and, indeed, indifference
is what charaeterizes modern man’s relationship to himself
and to others.

Tliese conditions necessarily color all human relation-
ships. When the individual self is neglected, the relationships
between people must of necessity become superficial, be-
cause not they themselves but interchangeable commodities
are related. People are not able and cannot afford to be
concerned with that which is unique and “peculiar” in each
other. However, the market creates a kind of comradeship
of its own. Everybody is involved in the same battle of com-
petition, shares the same striving for success; all meet under
the same conditions of the market (or at least believe they
do). Everyone knows how the others feel because each is

PERSONALITY 75

in the same boat: alone, afraid to fail, eager to please; no
quarter is given or expected in this battle.

The superficial character of human relationships leads
many to hope that they can find depth and intensity of
feeling in individual love. But love for one person and love
for one’s neighbor are indivisible; in any given culture, love
relationships are only a more intense expression of the re-
latedness to man prevalent in that eulture. Henee it is an
illusion to expect that the loneliness of man rooted in the
marketing orientation can be cured by individual love.

Thinking as well as feeling is determined by the market-
ing orientation. Thinking assumes the function of grasping
things quickly so as to be able to manipulate them suceess-
fully. Furthered by widespread and efficient education, this
leads to a high degree of intelligence, but not of reason.^®
For manipulative purposes, all that is neeessary to know is
the surface features of things, the superficial. The truth, to
be uncovered by penetrating to the essence of phenomena,
becomes an obsolete concept— truth not only in the pre-
scientific sense of “absolute” truth, dogmatically maintained
without reference to empirical data, but also in the sense
of tmth attained by man’s reason applied to his observa-
tions and open to revisions. Most intelligence tests are at-
tuned to this kind of thinking; they measure not so much
the capacity for reason and understanding as the capacity
for quick mental adaptation to a given situation; “mental
adjustment tests” would be the adequate name for them.^^

The difference between intelligence and reason will be discussed later
on, pp. 96 ff.

^^Cf. Ernest Schachtel, “Zum Begriff und zur Diagnosis der Persoen-
lichkeit in ‘Personality Tests’ [On the concept and Diagnosis of Per-
sonality Tests],’ Zeitschrift, fuer Sozialforschung (Jahrgang 6, 1937), PP*
597-624.

76 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

For this kind of thinking the application of the categories
of comparison and of quantitative measurement— rather
than a thorough analysis of a given phenomenon and its
quality— is essential. All problems are equally “interesting”
and there is little sense of the respective differences in their
importance. Knowledge itself becomes a commodity. Here,
too, man is alienated from his own power; thinking and
knowing are experienced as a tool to produce results. Knowl-
edge of man himself, psychology, which in the great tradi-
tion of Western thought was held to be the condition for
virtue, for right living, for happiness, has degenerated into
an instrument to be used for better manipulation of others
and oneself, in market research, in political propaganda, in
advertising, and so on.

Evidently this type of thinking has a profound effect on
our educational system. From grade school to graduate
school, the aim of learning is to gather as much information
as possible that is mainly useful for the purposes of the
market. Students are supposed to learn so many things that
they have hardly time and energy left to think. Not the
interest in the subjects taught or in knowledge and insight
as such, but the enhanced exchange value knowledge gives
is the main incentive for wanting more and better educa-
tion. We find today a tremendous enthusiasm for knowl-
edge and education, but at the same time a skeptical or
contemptuous attitude toward the allegedly impractical and
useless thinking which is concerned “only” with the truth
and which has no exchange value on the market.

Although I have presented the marketing orientation as
one of the nonproductive orientations, it is in many ways
so different that it belongs in a category of its own. The
receptive, exploitative, and hoarding orientations have one

PERSONALITY

77

thing in common: each is one form of human relatedness
which, if dominant in a person, is specific of him and char-
acterizes him. (Later on it will be shown that these four
orientations do not necessarily have the negative qualities
which have been described so far.^®) The marketing orien-
tation, however, does not develop something which is po-
tentially in the person (unless we make the absurd assertion
that “nothing” is also part of the human equipment); its
very nature is that no specific and permanent kind of re-
latedness is developed, but that the very changeability of
attitudes is the only permanent quality of such orientation.
In this orientation, those qualities are developed which can
best be sold. Not one particular attitude is predominant,
but the emptiness which can be filled most quickly with the
desired quality. This quality, however, ceases to be one in
the proper sense of the word; it is only a role, the pretense
of a quality, to be readily exchanged if another one is more
desirable. Thus, for instance, respectability is sometimes
desirable. The salesmen in certain branches of business
ought to impress the public with those qualities- of relia-
bility, soberness, and respectability which were genuine in
many a businessman of the nineteenth century. Now one
looks for a man who instills confidence because he looks as
if he had these qualities; what this man sells on the per-
sonality market is his ability to look the part; what kind of
person is behind that role does not matter and is nobody’s
concern. He himself is not interested in his honesty, but
in what it gets for him on the market. The premise of the
marketing orientation is emptiness, the lack of any specific
quality which could not be subject to change, since any
persistent trait of character might conflict some day with
»»Pp. 112 ff.

78 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

the requirements of the market. Some roles would not fit
in with the peculiarities of the person; therefore we must
do away with them— not with the roles but with the pecu-
liarities. The marketing personality must be free, free of all
individuality.

The character orientations which have been described so
far are by no means as separate from one another as it may
appear from this sketch. The receptive orientation, for in-
stance, may be dominant in a person but it is usually
blended with any or all of the other orientations. While I
shall diseuss the various blendings later on in this chapter,
I want to stress at this point that all orientations are part of
the human equipment, and the dominance of any specific
orientation depends to a large extent on the peculiarity of
the culture in which the individual lives. Although a more
detailed analysis of the relationship between the various
orientations and social patterns must be reserved for a study
which deals primarily with problems of social psychology,
I should like to suggest here a tentative hypothesis as to the
soeial conditions making for the dominance of any of the
four nonproductive types. It should be noted that the sig-
nificance of the study of the correlation between eharacter
orientation and social structure lies not only in the faet that
it helps us understand some of the most significant causes
for the formation of character, but also in the fact that
specific orientations— inasmuch as they are common to
most members of a eulture or social class— represent power-
ful emotional forees the operation of which we must know
in order to understand the functioning of society. In view
of the current emphasis on the impact of culture on per-
sonality, I should like to state that the relationship between
soeicty and the individual is not to be understood simply

PERSONALITY

79

in the sense that cultural patterns and social institutions
“influence” the individual. The interaction goes much
deeper; the whole personality of the average individual is
molded by the way people relate to each other, and it is
determined by the socioeconomic and political structure of
society to such an extent that, in principle, one can infer
from the analysis of one individual the totality of the social
structure in which he lives.

The receptive orientation is often to be found in societies
in which the right of one group to exploit another is firmly
established. Since the exploited group has no power to
change, or any idea of changing, its situation, it will tend
to look up to its masters as to its providers, as to those from
whom one receives everything life can give. No matter how
little the slave receives, he feels that by his own effort he
could have acquired even less, since the structure of his
society impresses him with the fact that he is unable to
organize it and to rely on his own activity and reason. As
far as contemporary American culture is concerned, it seems
at first glance that the receptive attitude is entirely absent.
Our whole culture, its ideas, and its practice discourage the
receptive orientation and emphasize that each one has to
look out, and be responsible, for himself and that he has
to use his own initiative if he wants to “get anywhere.”
However, while the receptive orientation is discouraged, it
is by no means absent. The need to conform and to please;
which has been discussed in the foregoing pages, leads to
the feeling of helplessness, which is the root of subtle recep-
tiveness in modern man. It appears particularly in the atti-
tude toward the “expert” and public opinion. People expect
that in every field there is an expert who can tell them how
things are and how they ought to be done, and that all they

8o HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

ought to do is listen to him and. swallow his ideas. There are
experts for science, experts for happiness, and writers be-
come experts in the art of living by the very fact that they
are authors of best sellers. This subtle but rather general
receptiveness assumes somewhat grotesque forms in modem
“folklore,” fostered particularly by advertising. While every-
one knows that realistically the “get-rich-quick” schemes do
not work, there is a widespread daydream of the effortless
life. It is partly expressed in connection with the use of
gadgets; the car which needs no shifting, the fountain pen
which saves the trouble of removing the cap are only ran-
dom examples of this phantasy. It is particularly prevalent
in those schemes which deal with happiness. A very char-
acteristic quotation is the following: “This book,” the
author says, “tells you how to be twice the man or woman
you ever were before— happy, well, brimming with energy,
confident, capable and free of care. You are required to
follow no laborious mental or physical program; it is much
simpler than that. ... As laid down here the route to that
promised profit may appear strange, for few of us can imag-
ine getting without striving. ... Yet that is so, as you will
see.”

The exploitative character, with its motto “I take what I
need,” goes back to piratical and feudal ancestors and goes
forward from there to the robber barons of the nineteenth
century who exploited the natural resources of the conti-
nent. The “pariah” and “adventure” capitalists, to use Max,
Weber’s terms, roaming the earth for profit, are men of this
stamp, men whose aim was to buy cheap and sell dear and
who ruthlessly pursued power and wealth. The free market

i*Hal Falvey, Ten Seconds That Will Change Your Life (Chicago:
Wilcox & Follett, 1946).

PERSONALITY

8l

as it operated in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries
under competitive conditions nurtured this type. Our own
age has seen a revival of naked exploitativeness in the au-
thoritarian systems which attempted to exploit the natural
and human resources, not so much of their own country
but of any other country they were powerful enough to in-
vade. They proclaimed the right of might and rationalized
it by pointing to the law of nature which makes the stronger
survive; love and decency were signs of weakness; thinking
was the occupation of cowards and degenerates.

The hoarding orientation existed side by side with the
exploitative orientation in the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries. The hoarding type was conservative, less inter-
ested in ruthless acquisition than in methodical economic
pursuits, based on sound principles and on the preservation
of what had been acquired. To him property was a symbol
of his self and its protection a supreme value. This orienta-
tion gave him a great deal of security; his possession of
property and family, protected as they were by the relatively
stable conditions of the nineteenth century, constituted a
safe and manageable world. Puritan ethics, with the empha-
sis on work and success as evidence of goodness, supported
the feeling of security and tended to give life meaning and
a religious sense of fulfillment. This combination of a stable
world, stable possessions, and a stable ethic gave the
members of the middle class a feeling of belonging, self-
confidence, and pride.

The marketing orientation does not come out of the
eighteenth or nineteenth centuries; it is definitely a modem
product. It is only recently that the package, the label, the
brand name have become important, in people as well as in
commodities. The gospel of working loses weight and the

8a

HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

gospel of selling becomes paramount. In feudal times, social
mobility was exceedingly liritited and one could not use
one’s personality to get ahead. In the days of the competi-
tive market, social mobility was relatively great, especially
in the United States; if one “delivered the goods” one
could get ahead. Today, the opportunities for the lone indi-
vidual who can make a fortune all by himself are, in com-
parison with the previous period, greatly diminished. He
who wants to get ahead has to fit into large organizations,
and his ability to play the expected role is one of his main
assets.

The depersonalization, the emptiness, the meaningless-
ness of life, the automatization of the individual result in
a growing dissatisfaction and in a need to search for a more
adequate way of living and for norms which could guide
man to this end. The productive orientation which I am
going to discuss now points to the type of character in
whom growth and the development of all his potentialities
is the aim to which all other activities are subordinated.

(3) The Productive Orientation

(a) General Characteristics

From the time of classic and medieval literature up to
the end of the nineteenth century a great deal of effort
was expended in describing the vision of what the. good
man and the good society ought to be. Such ideas were ex-
pressed partly in the form of philosophical or theological
treatises, partly in the form of utopias. The twentieth cen-
tury is conspicuous for the absence of such visions. The

PERSONALITY

85

emphasis is on critical analysis of man and society, in which
positive visions of what man ought to be are only implied.
While there is no doubt that this criticism is of utmost
significance and a condition for any improvement of society,
the absence of visions projecting a “better” man and a
“better” society has had the effect of paralyzing man’s faith
in himself and his future (and is at the same time the result
of such a paralysis ) .

Contemporary psychology and particularly psychoanal-
ysis are no exception in this respect. Freud and his followers
have given a splendid analysis of the neurotic character.
Tlieir clinical description of the nonproductive character
(in Freud’s terms, the pregenital character) is exhaustive
and accurate— quite regardless of the fact that the theoreti-
cal concepts they used are in need of revision. But the
character of the normal, mature, healthy personality has
found scarcely any consideration. This character, called the
genital character by Freud, has remained a rather vague and
abstraet coneept. It is defined by him as the character struc-
ture of a person in whom the oral and anal libido has lost
its dominant position and functions under the supremacy
of genital sexuality, the aim of which is sexual union with a
member of the opposite sex. The description of the genital
character does not go far beyond the statement that it is
the charaeter structure of an individual who is capable of
functioning well sexually and socially.

In discussing the productive character I venture beyond
critical analysis and inquire into the nature of the fully
developed character that is the aim of human development
and simultaneously the ideal of humanistic ethics. It may
serve as a preliminary approach to the concept of pro-
ductive orientation to state its connection with Freud’s

7

HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

genital character. Indeed, if we do not use Freud’s term
literally in the context of hi^ libido theory but symbolically,
it denotes quite accurately the meaning of productiveness.
For the stage of sexual maturity is that in which man has
the capacity of natural production; by the union of the
sperm and the egg new life is produced. While this type of
production is common to man and to animals, the capacity
for material production is specific for man. Man is not only
a rational and social animal. He can also be defined as a
producing animal, capable of transforming the materials
which he finds at hand, using his reason and imagination.
Not only can he produce, he must produce in order to live.
Material production, however, is but the most frequent
symbol for productiveness as an aspect of character. The
“productive orientation” of personality refers to a funda-
mental attitude, a mode of relatedness in all realms of
human experience. It covers mental, emotional, and sensory
responses to others, to oneself, and to things. Productive-
ness is man’s ability to use his powers and to realize the
potentialities inherent in him. If we say he must use his
powers we imply that he must be free and not dependent
on someone who controls his powers. We imply, further-
more, that he is guided by reason, since he can make use
of his powers only if he knows what they are, how to use
them, and what to use them for. Productiveness means that
he experiences himself as the embodiment of his powers
and as the “actor”; that he feels himself one with his pow-
ers and at the same time that they are not masked and
alienated from him.

In order to avoid the misunderstandings to which the

Productiveness as used in this book is meant as an expansion of the
concept of spontaneity described in Escape from Freedom,

PERSONALITY 85

term “productiveness” lends itself, it seems appropriate to
discuss briefly what is not meant by productiveness.

Generally the word “productiveness” is associated with
creativeness, particularly artistic creativeness. The real artist,
indeed, is the most convincing representative of productive-
ness. But not all artists are productive; a conventional
painting, e.g., may exhibit nothing more than the technical
skill to reproduce the likeness of a person in photographic
fashion on a canvas. But a person can experience, see, feel,
and think productively without having the gift to create
something visible or communicable. Productiveness is an
attitude which every human being is capable of, unless he
is mentally and emotionally crippled.

The term “productive” is also apt to be confused with
“active,” and “productiveness” with “activity.” While the
two terms can be synonymous (for instance, in Aristotle’s
concept of activity), activity in modern usage frequently
indicates the very opposite of productiveness. Activity is
usually defined as behavior which brings about a change in
an existing situation by an expenditure of energy. In con-
trast, a person is described as passive if he is unable to
change or overtly, influence an existing situation and is
influenced or moved by forces outside himself. This current
concept of activity takes into account only the actual ex-
penditure of energy and the change brought about by it. It
does not distinguish between the underlying psychic con-
ditions governing the activities.

An example, though an extreme one, of nonproductive
activity is the activity of a person under hypnosis. The
person in a deep hypnotic trance may have his eyes open,
may walk, talk, and do things; he “acts.” The general defini-
tion of activity would apply to him, since energy is spent

86 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

and some change. brought about But if we consider the
particular character and quality of this activity, we find that
it 'is not really the hypnotized person who is the actor, but
the hypnotist who, by means of his suggestions, acts through
him. While the hypnotic trance is an artificial state, it is
an extreme but characteristic example of a situation in which
a person can be active and yet not be the true actor, his
activity resulting from compelling forces over which he has
no control.

A common type of nonproductive activity is the reac-
tion to anxiety, whether acute or chronic, conscious or un-
conscious, which is frequently at the root of the frantic
preoccupations of men today. Different from anxiety-
motivated activity, though often blended with it, is the type
of activity based on submission to or dependence on an
authority. The authority may be feared, admired, or “loved"
—usually all three are mixed— but the cause of the activity
is the command of the authority, both in a formal way and
with regard to its fcontents. The person is active because the
authority wants him to be, and he does what the authority
wants him to do. This kind of activity is found in the au-
thoritarian character. To him activity means to act in the
name of something higher than his own self. He can act in
the name of God, the past, or duty, but not in the name of
himself. The authoritarian character receives the impulse
to act from a superior power which is neither assailable nor
changeable, and is consequently unable to heed spontaneous
impulses from within himself.^®

But the authoritarian character does not only tend to submit but also
wishes to dominate others. In fact, both the sadistic and the masochistic
sides are always present, and they differ only in degree of their stren^
and their repression respectively. (See the discussion of the authoritarian
character in Escape from Freedom, pp. ^41 ff.)

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87

Resembling submissive activity is automaton activity.
Here we do not find dependence on overt authority, but
rather on anonymous authority as it is represented by public
opinion, culture patterns, common sense, or “science.” The
person feels or does what he is supposed to feel or do; his
activity lacks spontaneity in the sense that it does not
originate from his own mental or emotional experience but
from an outside source.

Among the most powerful sources of activity are irra-
tional passions. The person who is driven by stinginess,
masochism, envy, jealousy, and all other forms of greed
is compelled to act; yet his actions are neither free nor
rational but in opposition to reason and to his interests as
a human being. A person so obsessed repeats himself, be-
coming more and more inflexible, more and more stereo-
typed. He is active, but he is not productive.

Although the source of these activities is irrational and
the acting persons are neither free nor rational, there can
be important practical results, often leading to material suc-
cess. In the concept of productiveness we are not concerned
with activity necessarily leading to practical results but with
an attitude, with a mode of reaction and orientation toward
the world and oneself in the process of living. We are con-
cerned with man’s character, not with his success.*®

Productiveness is man’s realization of the potentialities
characteristic of him, the use of his powers. But what is

^®An interesting although incomplete attempt to analyze productive
thinking is Max Wertheimer's posthumously published work, Productive
Thinking (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1945). Some of the aspects of
productiveness are dealt with by Munsterberg, Natorp, Bergson, and
James; in Brentano’s and Husserl's analysis of the psychic “act"; in
Dilthey's analysis of artistic production and in O. Schwarz, Medizinische
Anthropologic (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1929), pp. hi ff. In all these works, how-
ever, the problem is not treated in relation to character.

88 HUMAN NATimE AND CHARACTER

“power”? It is rather ironical that this word denotes two
contradictory concepts: power of = capacity and power over
= domination. This contradiction, however, is of a particu-
lar kind. Power = domination results from the paralysis of
power = capacity. “Power over” is the perversion of “power
to.” The ability of man to make productive use of his powers
is his potency; the inability is his impotence. With his
power of reason he can penetrate the surface of phenomena
and understand their essence. With his power of love he
can break through the wall which separates one person from
another. With his power of imagination he can visualize
things not yet existing; he can plan and thus begin to create.
Where potency is lacking, man’s relatedness to the world
is perverted into a desire to dominate, to exert power over
others as though they were things. Domination is coupled
with death, potency with life. Domination springs from
impotence and in turn reinforces it, for if an individual can
force somebody else to serve him, his own need to be
produetive is increasingly paralyzed.

How is man related to the wodd when he uses his powers
productively?

The world outside oneself can be experienced in two
ways: reproductively by perceiving actuality in the same
fashion as a film makes a Uteral record of things photo-
graphed (although even mere reproductive perception re-
quires the active participation of the mind ) ; and geneiatively
by conceiving it, by enlivening and re-creating this new
material through the spontaneous activity of one’s own
mental and emotional powers. While to a certain extent
everyone does react in both ways, the respective weight of
each kind of experience differs widely. Sometimes either one
of the two is atrophied, and the study of these extreme

PERSONAUTY

89

cases in which the reproductive or the generative mode is
almost absent offers the best approach to the understanding
of each of these phenomena.

The relative atrophy of the generative capacity is very fre-
quent in our culture. A person may be able to recognize
things as they are (or as his culture maintains them to be),
but he is unable to enliven his perception from within.
Such a person is the perfect “realist,” who sees all there is
to be seen of the surface features of phenomena but who is
quite incapable of penetrating below the surface to the es-
sential, and of visualizing what is not yet apparent. He sees
the details but not the whole, the trees but not the forest.
Reality to him is only the sum total of what has already
materialized. This person is not lacking in imagination, but
his is a calculating imagination, combining factors all of
which are known and in existence, and inferring their future
operation.

On the other hand, the person who has lost the capacity
to perceive actuality is insane. The psychotic person builds
up an inner world of reality in which he seems to have full
confidence; he lives in his own world, and the common
factors of reality as perceived by all men are unreal to him.
When a person sees objects which do not exist in reality but
are entirely the product of his imagination, he has hallu-
cinations; he interprets events in terms of his own feel-
ings, without reference to, or at least without proper ac-
knowledgment of, what goes on in reality. A paranoid per-
son may believe that he is being persecuted, and a chance
remark may indicate a plan to humiliate and ruin him. He
is convinced that the lack of any more obvious and explicit
manifestation of such intention does not prove anything;
that, although the remark may appear harmless on the sur-

<90 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

face, its real meaning becoqjes clear if one looks “deeper.”
For the psychotic person actual reality is wiped out and an
inner reality has taken its place.

The “realist” sees only the surface features of things; he
sees the manifest world, he can reproduce it photographi-
cally in his mind, and he can act by manipulating things
and people as they appear in this picture. The insane per-
son is incapable of seeing reality as it is; he perceives reality
only as a symbol and a reflection of his inner world. Both
are sick. The sickness of the psychotic who has lost contact
with reality is such that he cannot function socially. The
sickness of the “realist” impoverishes him as a human being.
While he is not incapacitated in his social functioning, his
view of reality is so distorted because of its lack of depth
and perspective that he is apt to err when more than manip-
ulation of immediately given data and short-range aims are
involved. “Realism” seems to be the very opposite of in-
sanity and yet it is only its complement.

The true opposite of both “realism” and insanity is pro-
ductiveness. The normal human being is capable of re-
lating himself to the world simultaneously by perceiving it
as it is and by conceiving it enlivened and enriched by his
own powers. If one of the two capacities is atrophied, man
is sick; but the normal person has both capacities even
though their respective weights differ. The presence of both
reproductive and generative capacities is a precondition for
productiveness; they are opposite poles whose interaction is
the dynamic source of productiveness. With the last state-
ment I want to emphasize that productiveness is not the
sum or combination of both capacities but that it is some-
thing new which springs from this interaction.

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91

We have described productiveness as a particular mode
of relatedness to the world. The question arises whether
there is anything which the productive person produces
and if so, what? While it is true that man’s productiveness
can create material things, works of art, and systems of
thought, by far the most important object of productive-
ness is man himself.

Birth is only one particular step in a continuum which
begins with conception and ends with death. All that is
between these two poles is a process of giving birth to one’s
potentialities, of bringing to life all that is potentially given
in the two cells. But while physical growth proceeds by
itself, if only the proper conditions are given, the process of
birth on the mental plane, in contrast, does not occur auto-
matically. It requires productive activity to give life to the
emotional and intellectual potentialities of man, to give
birth to his self. It is part of the tragedy of the human situa-
tion that the development of the self is never completed;
even under the best conditions only part of man’s potential-
ities is realized. Man always dies before he is fully born.

Although I do not intend to present a history of the con-
cept of productiveness, I want to give some outstanding il-
lustrations which may help to clarify the concept further.
Productiveness is one of the key concepts in Aristotle’s
system of ethics. One can determine virtue, he says, by
ascertaining the function of man. Just as in the case of a
flute player, a sculptor, or any artist, the good is thought
to reside in the specific function which distinguishes these
men from others and makes them what they are, the good
of man also resides in the specific function which distin-
guishes him from other species and makes him what he is.

92 HUMAN NATURE ANU CHARACTER

Such a function is an “activitj^of the soul which follows or
implies a rational principle.” “But it makes perhaps no
small difference,” he says, “whether we place the chief good
in possession or in use, in state of mind or activity. For the
state of mind may exist without producing any good result,
as in a man who is asleep or in some other way quite inac-
tive, but the activity can not; for one who has the activity
will of necessity be acting, and acting well.” The good
man for Aristotle is the man who by his activity, under the
guidance of his reason, brings to life the potentialities speci-
fic of man.

“By virtue and power,” Spinoza says, “I understand the
same thing.” ** Freedom and blessedness consist in man's
understanding of himself and in his effort to become that
which he potentially is, to approach “nearer and nearer to
the model of human nature.” “ Virtue to Spinoza is identi-
cal with the use of man’s powers and vice is his failure to
use his power; the essence of evil for Spinoza is impotence.®^

In a poetic form the eoncept of productive activity has
been expressed beautifully by Goethe and by Ibsen. Faust is
a symbol of man’s eternal search for the meaning of life.
Neither science, pleasure, nor might, not even beauty, an-
swer Faust’s question. Goethe proposes that the only answer
to man’s quest is productive activity, which is identical with
the good.

In the “Prologue in Heaven” the Lord says it is not error
which thwarts man but non-activity:

Nicomachean Ethics, 1098*, 8.

“ Ibid., 1098 32.

I* Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Def. 8.

“Ibid., IV, Preface.

“Ibid., IV. Def. 20.

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93

'"Man's active nature, flagging, seeks too soon to level;
Unqualified repose he learns to crave;

Whence, willingly, the comrade him I gave,

Who works, excites, and must create, as Devil.

But ye, God's sons in love and duty,

Enjoy the rich, the ever-living Beauty!

Creative Power, that works eternal schemes.

Clasp you in bonds of love, relaxing never.

And what in wavering apparition gleams

Fix in its place with thoughts that stand forever!" 22

At the end of the second part, Faust has won his bet with
Mephistopheles. He has erred and sinned, but he has not
committed the crucial sin— that of unproductiveness. The
last words of Faust express this idea very clearly, symbolized
by the act of claiming tillable land from the sea:

'To many millions let me furnish soil,

Though not secure, yet free to active toil;

Green, fertile fields, where men and herds go forth,

At once, with comfort, on the newest Earth,

And swiftly settled on the hill's firm base,

Created by the bold, industrious race.

A land like Paradise here, round about:

Up to the brink the tide may roar without,

And though it gnaw, to burst with force the limit,

By common impulse all unite to hem it.

Yes! To this thought I hold with firm persistence;

The last result of wisdom stamps it true:

He only earns his freedom and existence.

Who daily conquers them ,anew.

Thus here, by dangers girt, shall glide away
Of childhood, manhood, age, the vigorous day:

And such a throng I fain would see,—

Bayard Taylor, tr. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co.)

94

HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

Stand on free soil among a people free!

Then dared I hail the Moment fleeing:

‘Ah, still delay— thou art so fair!’

The traces cannot, of mine earthly being.

In aeons perish,— they are there!-
In proud fore-feeling of such lofty bliss,

I now enjoy the highest Moment,— this!”

While Goethe’s Faust expresses the faith in man which
was characteristic of the progressive thinkers of the eight-
eenth and nineteenth centuries, Ibsen’s Peer Gynt— written
in the second half of the nineteenth century— is a critical
analysis of modern man and his unproductiveness. The sub-
title of the play might very well be “Modern Man in Search
of His Self.” Peer Gynt believes he is acting in behalf of his
self when he uses all his energy to make money and to be-
come successful. He lives according to the principle: “Be
enough to thyself,” represented by the Trolls, and not ac-
cording to the human principle: “Be true to thyself.” He
discovers at the end of his life that his exploitativeness and
egotism have prevented him from becoming himself, that
the realization of the self is only possible if one is pro-
ductive, if one can give birth to one’s own potentialities.
Peer Gynt’s unrealized potentialities come to accuse him of
his “sin” and point to the real cause of his human failure—
his lack of productiveness.

The Threadballs (on the ground)

We are thoughts;

You should have thought us;

Little feet, to life
You should have brought usl
** Loc. eft., Part II, Act V.

PERSONALITY

We should have risen
With glorious sound;

But here like threadballs
We are earth-bound.

Withered Leaves

We are a watchword;

You should have used usl
Life, by your sloth.

Has been refused us.

By worms we’re eaten
All up and down;

No fruit will have us
For spreading crown.

A Sighing in the Air
We are songs;

You should have sung us!
In the depths of your heart
Despair has wrung us!

We lay and waited;

You called us not.

May your throat and voice
With poison rot!

Dewdiops

We are tears
Which were never shed.
The cutting ice
Which all hearts dread
We could have melted;

But now its dart

96

HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

Is frozen 4ito
A stubborn heart.

The wound is closed;

Our power is lost.

Broken Straws

We are deeds
You have left undone
Strangled by doubt.

Spoiled ere begun.

At the Judgment Day
We shall be there
To tell our tale;

How will you fare?

Thus far we have devoted ourselves to an inquiry into the
general characteristics of the productive orientation. We
must attempt now to examine productiveness as it appears
in specific activities, since only by studying the concrete and
specific can one fully understand the general.

(b) Productive Love and Thinking

Human existence is characterized by the fact that man is
alone and separated from the world; not being able to stand
the separation, he is impelled to seek for lelatedness and
oneness. There are many ways in which he can realize this
need, but only one in which he, as a unique entity, remains
intact; only one in which his own powers unfold in the very
process of being related. It is the paradox of human exist-
ence that man must simultaneously seek for closeness and

Eleven Plays of Henrik Ibsen (New York; The Modem Libraiy.
Random House, Inc.), Act V, Scene VI.

PERSONALrry

97

for independence; for oneness with others and at the same
time for the preservation of his uniqueness and particu-
larity.*® As we have shown, the answer to this paradox— and
to the moral problem of man— is productiveness.

One can be productively related to the world by acting
and by comprehending. Man produces things, and in the
process of creation he exercises his powers over matter. Man
comprehends the world, mentally and emotionally, through
love and through reason. His power of reason enables him
to penetrate through the surface and to grasp the essence of
his object by getting into active relation with it. His power
of love enables him to break through the wall which sepa-
rates him from another person and to comprehend him.
Although love and reason are only two different forms of
comprehending the world and although neither is possible
without the other, they are expressions of different powers,
that of emotion and that of thinking, and hence must be
discussed separately.

Tlie concept of productive love is very different indeed
from what is frequently called love. There is hardly any
word which is more ambiguous and confusing than the
word “love.” It is used to denote almost every feeling short
of hate and disgust. It comprises everything from the love
for ice cream to the love for a symphony, from mild sym-
pathy to the most intense feeling of closeness. People feel
they love if they have “fallen for” somebody. They call their
dependence love, and their possessiveness too. They believe,
in fact, that nothing is easier than to love, that the difH-

25 This concq)t of relatedness as the synthesis of closeness and unique-
ness is in many ways similar to the concept of “detached — attachment" in
Charles Morris' Paths of Life (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1942), one
difference being that Morris' frame of reference is that of temperament
while mine is that of character.

9^ HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

culty lies only in finding the right object, and that their
failure to find happiness in love is due to their bad luck in
not finding the right partner. But contrary to all this con-
fused and wishful thinking, love is a very specific feeling;
and while every human being has a capacity for love, its
realization is one of the most difficult achievements. Gen-
uine love is rooted in productiveness and may properly be
called, therefore, "productive love.” Its essence is the same
whether it is the mother’s love for the child, our love for
man, or the erotic love between two individuals. (That it
is also the same with regard to love for others and love for
ourselves we shall discuss later.)*® Although the objects of
love differ and consequently the intensity and quality of
love itself differ, certain basic elements may be said to be
characteristic of all forms of productive love. These are
care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.

Care and responsibility denote that love is an activity
and not a passion by which one is overcome, nor an affect
which one is "affected by.” The element of care and respon-
sibility in productive love has been admirably described in
the book of Jonah. God has told Jonah to go to Nineveh
to warn its inhabitants that they will be. punished unless
they mend their evil ways. Jonah runs away from his mis-
sion because he is afraid that the people in Nineveh will
repent and that God will forgive them. He is a man with
a strong sense of order and law, but without love. However,
in his attempt to escape he finds himself in the belly of a
whale, symbolizing the state of isolaton and imprisonment
which.his lack of love and solidarity has brought upon him.
God saves him, and Jonah goes to Nineveh. He preaches to
the inhabitants as had told him, and the very thing

^Chapter IV, Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest

PERSONALITY

99

he was afraid of happens. The men of Nineveh repent their
sins, mend their ways, and God forgives them and decides
not to destroy the city. Jonah is intensely angry and disap-
pointed; he wanted “justice” to be done, not mercy. At last
he finds some comfort by the shade of a tree which God
had made to grow for him to protect him from the sun.
But when God makes the tree wilt Jonah is depressed and
angrily complains to God. God answers: “Thou hast had
pity on the gourd for the which thou has not labored
neither madest it grow; which came up in a night, and
perished in a night. And should I not spare Nineveh, that
great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand people
that cannot discern between their right hand and their left
hand; and also much cattle?” God’s answer to Jonah is to
be understood symbolically. God explains to Jonah that the
essence of love is to “labor” for something and “to make
something grow,” that love and labor are inseparable. One
loves that for which one labors, and one labors for that
whieh one loves.

The story of Jonah implies that love cannot be divorced
from responsibility. Jonah does not feel responsible for the
life of his brothers. He, like Gain, eould ask, “Am I my
brother’s keeper?” Responsibility is not a duty imposed
upon one from the outside, but is my response to a request
whieh I feel to be my concern. Responsibility and response
have the same root, respondere = “to answer”; to be respon-
sible means to be ready to respond.

Motherly love is the most frequent and most readily
understood instance of productive love; its very essenee is
care and responsibility. During the birth of the child the
mother’s body “labors” for the child and after birth her love
consists in her effort to make the child grow. Motherly love

8

100 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

does not depend on conditions which the child has to ful-
fill in order to be loved; it is unconditional, based only upon
the child's request and the mother’s response.*'^ No wonder
that motherly love has been a symbol of the highest form
of love in art and religion. The Hebrew term indicating
God’s love for man and man’s love for his neighbor is
rachamim, the root of which is rechem = womb.

But not so evident is the connection of care and respon-
sibility with individual love; it is believed that to fall in love
is already the culmination of love, while actually it is the
beginning and only an opportunity for the achievement of
love. It is believed that love is the result of a mysterious
quality by which two people are attracted to each other, an
event which occurs without effort. Indeed, man’s loneliness
and his sexual desires make it easy to fall in love and there
is nothing mysterious about it, but it is a gain which is as
quickly lost as it has been achieved. One is not loved acci-
dentally; one’s own power to love produces love— just as
being interested makes one interesting. People are con-
cerned with the question of whether they are attractive
while they forget that the essence of attractiveness is their
own capacity to love. To love a person productively implies
to care and to feel responsible for his life, not only for his
physical existence but for the growth and development of
all his human powers. To love productively is incompatible

Compare Aristotle on love: “But friendship seems to consist rather
in loving than in being loved. It may be seen to be so by the delight
which mothers have in loving; for mothers sometimes give their children
to be brought up by others, and although they know them and love then ,
do not look for love in return, if it be impossible both to love and to be
loved, but are content, as it seems, to see their children doing well, and
to give them their love, even if the children in their ignorance do not
render them any such service as is a mother's due." — Welldon transla-
tion, Book VIII, Chap. X.

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101

with being passive, with being an onlooker at the loved
person's life; it implies labor and care and the responsibility
for his growth.

In spite of the universalistic spirit of the monotheistic
Western religions and of the progressive political concepts
that are expressed in the idea “that all men are created
equal,” love for mankind has not become a common ex-
perience. Love for mankind is looked upon as an achieve-
ment which, at best, follows love for an individual or as an
abstract concept to be realized only in the future. But love
for man cannot be separated from the love for one indi-
vidual. To love one person productively means to be related
to his human core, to him as representing mankind. Love
for one individual, in so far as it is divorced from love for
man, can refer only to the superficial and lo the accidental;
of necessity it remains shallow. While it may be said that
love for man differs from motherly love inasmuch as the
child is helpless and our fellow men are not, it may also be
said that even this difference exists only in relative terms.
All men are in need of help and depend on one another.
Human solidarity is the necessary condition for the un-
folding of any one individual.

Care and responsibility are constituent elements of love,
but without respect for and knowledge of the beloved per-
son, love deteriorates into domination and possessiveness.
Respect is not fear and awe; it denotes, in accordance with
the root of the word (respicere = to look at), the ability
to see a person as he is, to be aware of his individuality and
uniqueness. To respect a person is not possible without
knowing him; care and responsibility would be blind if they
were not guided by the knowledge of the peSoh's indi-
viduality.

102 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

A preliminary approach tp the understanding of produc-
tive thinking may be made by examining the difference be-
tween reason and intelligence.

Intelligence is man’s tool for attaining practical goals
with' the aim of discovering those aspects of things the
knowledge of which is necessary for manipulating them.
The goal itself or, what is the same, the premises on which
"intelligent” thinking rests are not questioned, but are
taken for granted and may or may not be rational in them-
selves. This particular quality of intelligence can be seen
clearly in an extreme case, in that of the paranoid person.
His premise, for instance, that all people are in conspiracy
against him, is irrational and false, but his thought processes
built upon this premise can in themselves show a remark-
able amount of intelligence. In his attempt to prove his
paranoid thesis he connects observations and makes logical
constructions which are often so cogent that it is difficult
to prove the irrationality of his premise. The application of
mere intelligence to problems is, of course, not restricted
to such pathological phenomena. Most of our thinking is
necessarily concerned with the achievement of practical re-
sults, with the quantitative and “superficial” aspects of phe-
nomena without inquiring into the validity of implied ends
and premises and without attempting to understand the
nature and quality of phenomena.

Reason involves a third dimension, that of depth, which
reaches to the essence of things and processes. While reason
is not divorced from the practical aims of life (and I shall
show presently in what sense this is true), it is not a mere
tool for immediate action. Its function is to know, to under-
stand, to grasp, to relate oneself to things by comprehending
them. It penetrates through the surface of things in order

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103

to discover their essence, their hidden relationships and
deeper meanings, their “reason.” It is, as it were, not two-
dimensional but “perspectivistic,” to use Nietzsche’s term;
i.e., it grasps all conceivable perspectives and dimensions,
not only the practically relevant ones. Being concerned with
the essence of things does not mean being concerned with
something “behind” things, but with the essential, with the
generic and the universal, with the most general and per-
vasive traits of phenomena, freed from their superficial and
accidental (logically irrelevant) aspects.

We can now proceed to examine some more specific
characteristics of productive thinking. In productive think-
ing the subject is not indifferent to his object but is affected
by and concerned with it. The object is not experienced as
something dead and divorced from oneself and one’s life,
as something about which one thinks only in a self-isolated
fashion; on the contrary, the subject is intensely interested
in his object, and the more intimate this relation is, the
more fruitful is his thinking. It is this very relationship
between him and his object which stimulates his thinking
in the first place. To him a person or any phenomenon be-
comes an object of thought because it is an object of inter-
est, relevant from the standpoint of his individual life or that
of human existence. A beautiful illustration of this point is
the story of Buddha’s discovery of the “fourfold truth.”
Buddha saw a dead man, a sick man, and an old man. He,
a young man, was deeply affected by the inescapable fate of
man, and his reaction to his observation was the stimulus
for thinking which resulted in his theory of the nature of
life and the ways of man’s salvation. His reaction was cer-
tainly not the only possible one. A modern physician in the
same situation might react by starting to think of how to

104 HUMAN NATURE ANU CHARACTER

combat death, sickness, and age, but his thinking would also
be determined by his total reaction to his object.

In the process of productive thinking the thinker is moti-
vated by his interest for the object; he is affected by it and
reacts to it; he cares and responds. But productive thinking
is also characterized by objectivity, by the respect the thinker
has for his object, by his ability to see the object as it is and
not as he wishes it to be. This polarity between objectivity
and subjectivity is characteristic of productive thinking as
it is of productiveness in general.

To be objective is possible only if we respect the things
we observe; that is, if we are capable of seeing them in their
uniqueness and their interconnectedness. This respect is not
essentially different from the respect we discussed in con-
nection with love; inasmuch as I want to understand some-
thing 1 must be able to see it as it exists according to its
own nature; while this is true with r^ard to all objects of
thought, it constitutes a special problem for the study of
human nature.

Another aspect of objectivity must be present in produc-
tive thinking about living and nonliving objects: that of
seeing the totality of a phenomenon. If the observer iso-
lates one aspect of the object without seeing the whole, be
will not properly understand even the one aspect he is
studying. This point has been emphasized as the most im-
portant element in productive thinking by Wertheimer.
“Productive processes,” he writes, "are often of this nature:
in the desire to get a real understanding, requestioning and
investigation start. A certain region in the field becomes
crucial, is focused; but it does not become isolated. A new,
deeper structural view of the situation develops, involving
changes in the functional meaning, tiie grouping, etc., of

PERSONALITY

105

the items. Directed by what is required by the structure
of a situation for a crucial' region, one is led to a reasonable
prediction, which— like the other parts of the structure-
calls for verification, direct, or indirect. Two directions are
involved: getting a whole consistent picture, and seeing
what the structure of the whole requires for the parts.” “

Objectivity requires not only seeing the object as it is
but also seeing oneself as one is, i.e., being aware of the
particular constellation in which one finds oneself as an
observer related to the object of observation. Productive
thinking, then, is determined by the nature of the object
and the nature of the subject who relates himself to his
object in the process of thinking. This twofold determina-
tion constitutes objectivity, in contrast to false subjectivity
in which the thinking is not controlled by the object and
thus degenerates into prejudice, wishful thinking, and phan-
tasy. But objectivity is not, as it is often implied in a false idea
of “scientific” objectivity, synonymous with detachment,
with absence of interest and care. How can one penetrate the
veiling surface of things to their causes and relationships if
one does not have an interest that is vital and sufficiently im-
pelling for so laborious a task? How could the aims of inquiry
be formulated except by reference to the interests of man?
Objectivity docs not mean detachment, it means respect;
that is, the ability not to distort and to falsify things, per-
sons, and oneself. But does not the subjective factor in the
observer, his interests, tend to distort his thinking for the
sake of arriving at desired results? Is not the lack of personal
interest the condition of scientific inquiry? The idea that
lack of interest is a condition for recognizing the truth is

**Max Wertheimer, Productive Thinking (New York: Harper &
Brothers, 1945), p. 167. Cf. also p. 192.

106 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

fallacious.” There hardly ha^^ been any significant discover
or insight which has not been prompted by an interest of
the thinker. In fact, without interests, thinking becomes
sterile and pointless. What matters is not whether or not
there is an interest, but what kind of interest there is and
what its relation to the truth will be. All productive think-
ing is stimulated by the interest of the observer. It is never
an interest per se which distorts ideas, but only those inter-
ests which are incompatible with the truth, with the dis-
covery of the nature of the object under observation.

The statement that productiveness is an intrinsic human
faculty contradicts the idea that man is lazy by nature and
that he has to be forced to be active. This assumption is an
old one. When Moses asked Pharaoh to let the Jewish
people go so that they might “serve God in the desert,” his
answer was: “You are lazy, nothing but lazy.” To Pharaoh,
slave labor meant doing things; worshiping God was lazi-
ness. The same idea was adopted by all those who wanted
to profit from the activity of others and had no use for
productiveness, which they could not exploit.

Our own culture seems to offer evidence for the very op-
posite. For the last few centuries Western man has been
obsessed by the idea of work, by the need for constant
activity. He is almost incapable of being lazy for any length
of time. This contrast, however, is only apparent. Laziness
and compulsive activity are not opposites but are two symp-
toms of the disturbance of man’s proper functioning. In
the neurotic individual we often find the inability to work
as his main symptom; in the so-called adjusted person, the
inability to enjoy ease and repose. Gompulsive activity is

K. Mannheim’s discussion of this point in Ideology and Utopia
(New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1936).

PERSONALITY IO7

not the opposite of laziness but its complement; the op-
posite of both is productiveness.

The crippling of productive activity results in either inac-
tivity or overactivity. Hunger and force can never be con-
ditions of productive activity. On the contrary, freedom,
economic security, and an organization of society in which
work 'can be the meaningful expression of man’s faculties
are the factors conducive to the expression of man’s natural
tendency to make productive use of his powers. Productive
activity is characterized by the rhythmic change of activity
and repose. Productive work, love, and thought are possible
only if a person can be, when necessary, quiet and alone
with himself. To be able to listen to oneself is a prerequisite
for the ability to listen to others; to be at home with oneself
is the necessary condition fqr relating oneself to others.

(4) Orientations in the Process of Socialization

As pointed out in the beginning of this chapter, the
process of living implies two kinds of relatedness to the
outside world, that of assimilation and that of socialization.
While the former has been discussed in detail in this chap-
ter,®“ the latter has been dealt with at length in Escape
from Freedom and therefore I will give here only a brief
summary.

We can differentiate between the following kinds of
interpersonal relatedness: symbiotic relatedness, withdrawal-
destructiveness, love.

In the symbiotic relatedness the person is related to others
but loses or never attains his independence; he avoids the dan-

Including love, which was treated together with all other manifesta-
tions of productiveness in order to give a fuller description of the nature
of productiveness.

108 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

ger of aloneness by becoming, part of another person, either
by being '‘swallowed” by that person or by “swallowing”
him. The former is the root of what is clinically described as
masochism. Masochism is the attempt to get rid of one’s
individual self, to escape from freedom, and to look for
security by attaching oneself to another person. The forms
which such dependency assume are manifold. It can be
rationalized as sacrifice, duty, or love, especially when cul-
tural patterns legitimatize this kind of rationalization. Some-
times masochistic strivings are blended with sexual impulses
and pleasureful (the masochistic perversion); often the
masochistic strivings are so much in conflict with the parts
of the personality striving for independence and freedom
that they are experienced as painful and tormenting.

The impulse to swallow others, the sadistic, active form
of symbiotic relatedness, appears in all kinds of rationaliza-
tions, as love, overprotectiveness, “justified” domination,
“justified” vengeance, etc.; it also appears blended with
sexual impulses as sexual sadism. All forms of the sadistic
drive go back to the impulse to have complete mastery over
another person, to “swallow” him, and to make him a help-
less object of our will. Complete domination over a power-
less person is the essence of active symbiotic relatedness. The
dominated person is perceived and treated as a thing to be
used and exploited, not as a human being who is an end
in himself. The more this craving is blended with destruc-
tiveness, the more cruel it is; but the benevolent domina-
tion which often masquerades as “love” is an expression of
sadism too. While the benevolent sadist wants his object
to be rich, powerful, successful, there is one thing he tries
to prevent with all his power: that his object become free
and independent and thus cease to be his.

PERSONALITY

109

Balzac in his Lost Illusions gives a striking example of
benevolent sadism. He describes the relationship between
young Lucien and the Bagno prisoner who poses as' an abb6.
Shortly after he makes the acquaintance of the young man
who has just tried to commit suicide, the abbe says: “I
have picked you up, I have given life to you, and you
belong to me as the creature belongs to the creator, as—
in the Orient's fairy tales— the Ifrit belongs to the spirit,
as the body belongs to the soul. With powerful hands I will
keep you straight on the road to power; I promise you,
nevertheless, a life of pleasure, of honors, of everlasting
feasts. You will never lack money, you will sparkle, you will
be brilliant; whereas I, stooped down in the filth of pro-
moting, shall secure the brilliant edifice of your success. I
love power for the sake of power! I shall always enjoy your
pleasures although I shall have to renounce them. Shortly:
I shall be one and the same person with you. ... I will love
my creatule, I will mold him, will shape him to my services,
in order to love him as a father loves his child. I shall drive
at your side in your Tilbury, my dear boy, I shall delight in
your successes with women. I shall say: I am this handsome
young man.”

While the symbiotic relationship is one of closeness to
and intimacy with the object, although at the expense of
freedom and integrity, a second kind of relatedness is one
of distance, of withdrawal and destructiveness. The feeling
of individual powerlessness can be overcome by withdrawal
from others who are experienced as threats. To a certain
extent withdrawal is part of the normal rhythm in any per-
son's relatedness to the world, a necessity for contempla-
tion, for study, for the reworking of materials, thoughts,
ai^tudes. In the phenomenon here described, withdrawal

110 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

becomes the main form of i;elatedness to others, a negative
relatedness, as it were. Its emotional equivalent is the feel-
ing of indifference toward others, often accompanied by a
compensatory feeling of self-inflation. Withdrawal and in-
difference can, but need not, be conscious; as a matter of
fact, in our culture they are mostly covered up by a super-
ficial kind of interest and sociability.

Destructiveness is the active form of withdrawal; the im-
pulse to destroy others follows from the fear of being de-
stroyed by them. Since withdrawal and destructiveness are
the passive and active forms of the same kind of relatedness,
they are often blended, in varying proportions. Their dif-
ference, however, is greater than that between the active
and the passive form of the symbiotic relatedness. Destruc-
tiveness results from a more intense and more complete
blocking of productiveness than withdrawal. It is the per-
version of the drive to live; it is the energy of unlived life
transformed into energy for the destruction of life.

Love is the productive form of relatedness to others and
to oneself. It implies responsibility, care, respect and knowl-
edge, and the wish for the other person to grow and develop.
It is the expression of intimacy between two human beings
under the condition of the preservation of each other’s
integrity.

It follows from what has been set forth that there must
be certain affinities between the various forms of orienta-
tions in the process of assimilation and socialization, respec-
tively. The following chart gives a picture of the orienta-
tions which have been discussed and the affinities between
them.®^

^^The meaning of the concepts put in parentheses will be explained
in the following section.

PERSONALITY

111

ASSIMILATION SOCIALIZATION

I. Nonproductive orientation

a) Receiving

Masochistic '

(Accepting)

(Loyalty) ^

b) Exploiting ...

Sadistic 1

(Taking)

(Authority)

c) Hoarding

Destructive

(Preserving)

(Assertiveness)

d) Marketing

Indifferent

(Exchanging)

(Fairness)

II. Productive orientation

Working

• Loving, Reasoning

symbiosis

withdrawal

Only a few words of comment seem to be needed. The
receptive and exploitative attitude implies a different kind
of interpersonal relationship from the hoarding one. Both
the reeeptive and the exploitative attitudes result in a kind
of intimacy and closeness' to people from whom one expects
to get the things needed either peacefully or aggressively.
In the receptive attitude, the dominant relationship is a
submissive, masochistic one: If I submit to the stronger
person, he will give me all I need. The other person be-
comes the source of all good, and in the symbiotic relation-
ship one receives all one needs from him. The exploitative
attitude, on the other hand, implies usually a sadistic kind
of relationship: If I take by force all I need from the other
person, I must rule over him and make him the powerless
object of my own domination.

In contrast to both these attitudes the hoarding kind of

112 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

relatedness implies remoteness from other persons. It is
based not on the expectation of getting things from an
outside source of all good but on the expectation of having
things by not consuming and by hoarding. Any intimacy
with the outside world is a threat to this kind of autarchic
security system. The hoarding character will tend to solve
the problem of his relationship to others by attempting to
withdraw or— if the outside world is felt to be too great a
menace— to destroy.

The marketing orientation is also based on detachment
from others, but in contrast to the hoarding orientation,
the detachment has a friendly rather than a destructive
connotation. The whole principle of the marketing orienta-
tion implies easy contact, superficial attachment, and de-
tachment from others only in a deeper emotional sense.

(5) Blends of Various Orientations

In describing the different kinds of nonproductive orien-
tations and the productive orientation, I have dealt with
these orientations as if they were separate entities, clearly
differentiated from each other. For didactic purposes this
kind of treatment seemed to be necessary because we have
to understand the nature of each orientation before we can
proceed to the understanding of their blending. YeJ^ in re-
ality, we always deal with blends, for a character never rep-
resents one of the nonproductive orientations or the pro-
ductive orientation exdusivdy.

Among the combinations of the various orientations we
must differentiate between the blend of the nonproductive

PERSONALITY

113

orientations among themselves, and that of the nonproduc-
tive with the productive orientation. Some of the former
have certain affinities toward each other; for instance, the
receptive blends more frequently with the exploitative than
with the hoarding orientation. The receptive and exploita-
tive orientations have in common the closeness toward the
object, in cortrast to the remoteness of the person from
the object, in the hoarding orientation. However, even the
orientations with lesser affinity are frequently blended. If
one wants to characterize a person, one will usually have
to do so in terms of his dominant orientation.

The blending between the nonproductive and produc-
tive orientation needs a more thorough discussion. There
is no person whose orientation is entirely productive, and
no one who is completely lacking in productiveness. But the
respective weight of the productive and the nonproductive
orientation in each person's character structure varies and
determines the quality of the nonproductive orientations.
In the foregoing description of the nonproductive orienta-
tions it was assumed that they were dominant in a character
stracture. We must now supplement the earlier description
by considering the qualities of the nonproductive orienta-
tions in a character structure in which the productive orien-
tation is dominant. Here the nonproductive orientations do
not have the negative meaning they have when they are
dominant but have a different and constractive quality. In
fact, the nonproductive orientations as they have been
described may be considered as distortions of orientations
which in themselves are a normal and necessary part of
living. Every human being, in order to survive, must be
able to accept things from others, to take things, to save,

114 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

and to exchange. He must also be able to follow authority,
to guide others, to be alone, and to assert himself. Only if
his way of acquiring things and relating himself to others
is essentially nonproductive does the ability to accept, to
take, to save, or to exchange turn into the craving to receive,
to exploit, to hoard, or to market as the dominant ways of
acquisition. The nonproductive forms of social relatedness
in a predominantly productive person— loyalty, authority,
fairness, assertiveness— turn into submission, domination,
withdrawal, destructiveness in a predominantly nonproduc-
tive person. Any of the nonproductive orientations has,
therefore, a positive and a negative aspect, according to the
degree of productiveness in the total character structure.
The following list of the positive and negative aspects of
various orientations may serve as an illustration for this
principle.

RECEPTIVE ORIENTATION (ACCEPTING)

Positive Aspect Negative Aspect

accepting passive, without initiative

responsive opinionless, characterless

devoted submissive

modest without pride

charming parasitical

adaptable unprincipled

socially adjusted servile, without self-confidence

idealistic unrealistic

sensitive cowardly

polite spineless

optimistic wishful thinking

trusting gullible

tender sentimental

PERSONALITY

US

EXPLOITATIVE ORIENTATION ( TAKING)

Positive Aspect Negative Aspect

active exploitative

able to take initiative aggressive

able to make claims egocentric

proud conceited

impulsive i . rash

self-confident arrogant

captivating seducing

HOARDING ORIENTATION (PRESERVING)

Positive Aspect

practical

economical

careful

reserved

patient

cautious

steadfast, tenacious
imperturbable
composed under stress

orderly

methodical

loyal

Negative Aspect

unimaginative

stingy

suspicious

cold

lethargic

anxious

stubborn

indolent

inert

pedantic

obsessional

possessive

MARKETING ORIENTATION (EXCHANGING)

Positive Aspect Negative Aspect

purposeful opportunistic

able to change inconsistent

youthful childish

forward-looking without a future or a past

9

Il6 HUMAN NATURE AND CHARACTER

MARKETING ORIENTATION ( EXCHANGING ) —COntinUCd

Positive Aspect Negative Aspect

open-minded without principle and values

social . unable to be alone

experimenting aimless

undogmatic relativistic

efficient overactive

curious tactless

intelligent intellectualistic

adaptable undiscriminating

tolerant indifferent

witty silly

generous wasteful

The positive and negative aspects are not two separate
classes of syndromes. Each of these traits can be described
as a point in a continuum which is determined by the
degree of the productive orientation which prevails; rational
systematic orderliness, for instance, may be found when
productiveness is high, while, with decreasing productive-
ness, it degenerates more and more into irrational, pedantic
compulsive “orderliness” which actually defeats its own pur-
pose. The same holds true of the change from youthfulness
to childishness, or of the change from being proud to being
conceited. In considering only the basic orientations we see
the staggering amount of variability in each person brought
about by the fact that

r) the nonproductive orientations are blended in differ-
ent ways with regard to the respective weight of each
of them;

2) each changes in quality according to the amount of
productiveness present;

PERSONALITY

117

3) the different orientations may operate in different
strength in the material, emotional, or intellectual
spheres of activity, respectively.

If we add to the picture of personality the different tem-
peraments arid gifts, we can easily recognize that the con-
figuration of these basic elements makes for an endless
number of variations in personality.

CHAPTER IV

Problems of Humanistic Ethics

The most obvious argument against the principle of hu-
manistic ethics— that virtue is the same as the pursuit of
man’s obligations toward himself, and vice the same as self-
mutilation— is that we make egotism or selfishness the norm
of human conduct when actually the aim of ethics should
be its defeat, and, further, that we overlook man’s innate
evilness which can be curbed only by his fear of sanctions
and awe of authorities. Or, if man is not innately bad, the
argument may run, is he not constantly seeking for pleasure,
and is not pleasure itself against, or at least indifferent to,
the principles of ethics? Is not conscience the only effective
agent in man causing him to act virtuously, and has not
conscience lost its place in humanistic ethics? There seems
to be no place for faith either; yet is not faith a necessary
basis of ethical behavior?

These questions imply certain assumptions about human
nature and become a challenge to any psychologist who is
concerned with the achievement of man’s happiness and
growth, and consequently with moral norms conducive to
this aim. In this chapter I shall attempt to deal with these
problems in the light of the psychoanalytic data the theo-
retical foundation for which was laid in the chapter en-
titled Human Nature and Character.

u8

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST II9

1. Selfishness, Self-Love, and Self-Interest^

Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

-Bible

Modern culture is pervaded by a tabu on selfishness. We
are taught that to be selfish is sinful and that to love others
is virtuous. To be sure, this doctrine is in flagrant contra-
diction to the practice of modern society, which holds the
doctrine that the most powerful and legitimate drive in
man is selfishness and that by following this imperative
drive the individual makes his best contribution to the com-
mon good. But the doctrine which declares selfishness to
be the arch evil and love for others to be the greatest virtue
is still powerful. Selfishness is used here almost synony-
mously with self-love. The alternative is to love others,
which is a virtue, or to love oneself, which is a sin.

This principle has found its classic expression in Calvin’s
theology, according to which man is essentially evil and
powerless. Man can achieve absolutely nothing that is good
on the basis of his own strength or merit. “We arc not our
own,” says Calvin. “Therefore neither our reason nor our
will should predominate in our deliberations and actions.
We are not our own; therefore let us not propose it as our
end to seek what may be expedient for us according to the
flesh. We are not our own; therefore, let us, as far as pos-
sible, forget ourselves and all things that are ours. On the

^Cf. Erich Fromm, “Selfishness and Self-Love,"' Psychiatry (November,
1939). The following discussion of selfishness and self-love is a partial
repetiuon of the earlier paper.

120 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

contrary, we are God’s; for Him, therefore, let us live and
die. For, as it is the most devastating pestilence which ruins
people if they obey themselves, it is the only haven of sal-
vation not to know or to want anything by oneself but to
be guided by God Who walks before us.” * Man should have
not only the conviction of his absolute nothingness but he
should do everything to humiliate himself. “For I do not
call it humility if you suppose that we have anything left
. ... we cannot think of ourselves as we ought to think
without utterly despising everything that may be supposed
an excellence in us. This humility is unfeigned submission
of a mind overwhelmed with a weighty sense of its own
misery and poverty; for such is the uniform description of
it in the word of God.” *

This emphasis on the nothingness and wickedness of
the individual implies that there is nothing he should like
and respect about himself. The doctrine is rooted in self-
contempt and self-hatred. Calvin makes this point very
clear: he speaks of self-love as “a pest.” * If the individual
finds something “on the strength of which he finds pleasure
in himself,” he betrays this sinful self-love. This fondness
for himself will make him sit in judgment over others and
despise them. Therefore, to be fond of oneself or to like
anything in oneself is one of the greatest sins. It is supposed

2 Johannes Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. by John
Allen (Philadelphia- Presbyterian Board of Christian Education, 1928),
in particular Book III, Chap. 7, p. 619. From “For, as it is . . . the
translation is mine from the Latin original (Johannes Calvini, Institutio
Christianae Religionis. Editionem curavit, A. Tholuk, Berolini, 1935, par.

P- 445 )-

^Ibid., Chap. 12, par. 6, p. bbi,

^Ibid,, Chap. 7, par. 4, p. 622.

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-mTEREST 121

to exclude love for others ® and to be identical with selfish-
ness.®

The view of man held by Calvin and Luther has been of
tremendous influence on the development of modern West-
ern society. They laid the foundations for an attitude in
which man’s own happiness was not considered to be the
aim of life but where he became a means, an adjunct, to
ends beyond him, of an all-powerful God, or of the not
less powerful secularized authorities and norms, the state,
business, success. Kant, who, with regard to the idea that
man should be an end in himself and never a means only,
was perhaps the most influential ethical thinker of the En-
lightenment period, nevertheless had the same condemna-
tion for self-love. According to him, it is a virtue to want
happiness for others, but to want one’s own happiness is
ethically indifferent, since it is something for which the
nature of man is striving, and since a natural striving cannot
have a positive ethical value.^ Kant admits that one must
not give up one’s claims to happiness; under certain circum-
stances it may even be a duty to be concerned with it,
partly because health, wealth, and the like may be means

® It should be noted, however, that even love for one’s neighbor, while
it is one of the fundamental doctrines of the New Testament, has not
been given a corresponding weight by Calvin. In blatant contradiction to
the New Testament, Calvin says: "'For what the schoolmen advance con-
cerning the pnority of charity to faith and hope, is a mere reverie of a
distempered imagination . . . — Chap. 24, par. 1, p. 531.

•Despite Luther’s emphasis on the spiritual freedom of the individual,
his theology, different as it is in many ways from Calvin’s, is pervaded by
the same conviction of man’s basic powerlessness and nothingness.

7 Compare Immanuel Kant, Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason and
Other Works on the Theory of Ethics, trans. by Thomas Kingsmill Abbott
(New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1909), Part I, Book I, Chap. I, par.
VIII, Remark II, p. 126.

122 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

necessary for the fulfillment of one's duty, partly because
the lack of happiness— poverty— can prevent one from ful-
filling his duty.** But love for oneself, striving for one's own
happiness, can never be a virtue. As an ethical principle, the
•striving for one’s own happiness “is the most objectionable
one, not merely because it is false .... but beeause the
springs it provides for morality are such as rather to under-
mine it and destroy its sublimity ....”*

Kant differentiates egotism, self-love, philautia— a benevo-
lence for oneself— and arroganee, the pleasure in oneself.
But even “rational self-love” must be restricted by ethieal
principles, the pleasure in oneself must be battered down,
and the individual must eome to feel humiliated in com-
paring himself with the sanctity of moral laws.^® The indi-
vidual should find supreme happiness in the fulfillment of
his duty. The realization of the moral principle— and, there-
fore, of the individual’s happiness— is only possible in the
general whole, the nation, the state. But “the welfare of
the state”— and salus rei publicae siiprema lex est— is not
identical with the welfare of the citizens and their happi-
ness.“

In spite of the fact that Kant shows a greater respect for
the integrity of the individual than did Calvin or Luther,
he denies the individual’s right to rebel even under the most
tyrannical government; the rebel must be punished with no
less than death if he threatens the sovereign.**® Kant empha-

^ Ibid., in particular Part I, Book I, Chap. Ill, p. 186.

® Loc. cit., Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals; second
section, p. 61.

^oLoc. cit., Part I, Book I, Ch. Ill, p. 165.

Immanuel Kant, Immanuel Kant’s Werke (Berlin: Cassierer), in particu-
lar '‘Der Rechtslehre Zweiter Teil” I. Abschnitt, par. 49, p. 124. I translate
from the German text, since this part is omitted in the English translation
of The Metaphysics of Ethics by I. W. Semple (Edinburgh: 1871).

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST 12^

sizes the native propensity for evil in the nature of man,‘*
for the suppression of which the moral law, the categorical
imperative, is essential lest man should become a beast and
human society end in wild anarchy.

In the philosophy of the Enlightenment period the indi-
vidual’s claims to happiness have been emphasized much
more strongly by others than by Kant, for instance, by Hel-
vetius. This trend in modern philosophy has found its most
radical expression in Stirner and Nietzsche.^'* But while they
take the opposite position to that of Calvin and Kant with
regard to the value of selfishness, they agree with them in
the assumption that love for others and love for oneself are
alternatives. They denounce love for others as weakness and
self-sacrifice and postulate egotism, selfishness, and self-love
-—they too confuse the issue by not clearly differentiating
between these last— as virtue. Thus Stirner says; “Here,
egoism, selfishness must decide, not the principle of love,
not love motives like mercy, gentleness, good-nature, or
even justice and equity— for iustitia too is a phenomenon
of love, a product of love; love knows only sacrifice and
demands self-sacrifice.”

The kind of love denounced by Stirner is the masochistic
dependence by which the individual makes himself a means
for achieving the purposes of somebody or something out-
side himself. Opposing this concept of love, he did not
avoid a formulation, which, highly polemical, overstates the

Compare Immanuel Kant, Religion within the Limits of Reason
Alone, trans. by T. M. Greene and H. H. Hudson (Chicago: Open Court,
1934),

1* In order not to make this chapter too long I discuss only the modern
philosophical development. The student of philosophy will know that
Aristotle's and Spinoza’s ethics consider self-love a virtue, not a vice, in
striking contrast to Calvin’s standpoint.

15 Max Stirner, The Ego and His Own, trans. by S. T. Byington (Lon-
don: A. C. Fifield, 1912), p. 339.

124 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

point. The positive principle with which Stimer was con-
cerned was opposed to an attitude which had been that
of Christian theology for centuries— and which was vivid in
the German idealism prevalent in his time; namely, to bend
the individual so that he submits to, and finds his center
in, a power and a principle outside himself. Stirner was not
a philosopher of the stature of Kant or Hegel, but he had
the courage to rebel radically against that side of idealistic
philosophy which negated the concrete individual and thus
helped the absolute state to retain its oppressive power over
him.

In spite of many differences between Nietzsche and
Stirner, their ideas in this respect are very much the same.
Nietzsche too denounces love and altruism as expressions
of weakness and self-negation. For Nietzsche, the quest for
love is typical of slaves unable to fight for what they want
and who therefore try to get it through love. Altruism and
love for mankind thus have become a sign of degeneration.^^
For Nietzsche it is the essence of a good and healthy aris-
tocracy that it is ready to sacrifice countless people for its
interests without having a guilty conscience. Society should
be a “foundation and scaffolding by means of which a select
class of beings may be able to elevate themselves to their

One of his positive formulations, for example, is: *‘But how does one
use life? In using it up like the candle one burns. . . . Enjoyment of life
is using life up.*' F. Engels has clearly seen the one-sidedness of Stirner's
formulations and has attempted to overcome the false alternative between
love for oneself and love for others. In a letter to Marx in which he dis-
cusses Stirner's book, Engels writes: “If, however, the concrete and real
individual is the true basis for our 'human* man, it is self-evident that
egotism — of course not only Stirner's egotism of reason, but also the
egotism of the heart — ^is the basis for our love of man.*’ — Marx-Engeis
Gesamtausgabe (Berlin: Marx-Engels Verlag, 1929), p. 6.

Friedrich Nietzsche, The Will to Power, trans. by Anthony M.
Ludovici (Edinburgh and London: T. N. Foulis, 1910), stanzas 246, 326,
369, 373, and 728.

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST 125

higher duties, and in general to a higher existence.” ** Many
quotations could be added to document this spirit of con-
tempt and egotism. These ideas have often been understood
as the philosophy of Nietzsche. However, they do not repre-
sent the true core of his philosophy.*®

There are various reasons why Nietzsche expressed him-
self in the sense noted above. First of all, as with Stimer,
his philosophy is a reaction— a rebellion— against the philo-
sophical tradition of subordinating the empirical individual
to powers and principles outside himself. His tendency to
overstatement shows this reactive quality. Second, there
were, in Nietzsche’s personality, feelings of insecurity and
anxiety that made him emphasize the “strong man” as a
reaction formation. Finally, Nietzsche was impressed by
the theory of evolution and its emphasis on the “survival
of the fittest.” This interpretation does not alter the fact
that Nietzsche believed that there is a contradiction between
love for others and love for oneself; yet his views contain
the nucleus from which this false dichotomy can be over-
come. The “love” which he attacks is rooted not in one’s
own strength, but in one’s own weakness. “Your neighbor-
love is your bad love of yourselves. Ye flee unto your neigh-
bor from yourselves and would fain make a virtue thereof!
But I fathom your ‘unselfishness.’ ” He states explicitly,
“You cannot ^tand yourselves and you do not love your-
selves sufficiently.” For Nietzsche the individual has “an
enormously great significance.” Tlie “strong” individual

1 * Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, trans. by Helen Zimmer
(New York: The Macmillan Company, 1907), stanza 258.

*• Cf. G. A. Morgan, What Nietzsche Means (Cambridge; Harvard
University Press, 1943).

*• Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, trans. by Thomas Com-
mon (New York: Modem Library), p. 75.

>1 The Will to Power, stanza 785.

126 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

is the one who has “true kindness, nobihty, greatness of
soul, which does not give in order to take, which does not
want to excel by being kind;— ‘waste' as type of true kind-
ness, wealth of the person as a premise.” “ He expresses
the same thought also in Thus Spake Zarathustra: “The
one goeth to his neighbor because he seeketh himself, and
the other because he would fain lose himself.” “

The essence of this view is this; Love is a phenomenon
of abundance; its premise is the strength of the individual
who can give. Love is affirmation and productiveness, “It
seeketh to create what is loved!” To love another person
is only a virtue if it springs from this inner strength, but it
is a vice if it is the expression of the basic inability to be
oneself.*® However, the fact remains that Nietzsche left the
problem of the relationship between self-love and love for
others as an unsolved antinomy.

The doctrine that selfishness is the arch-evil and that to
love oneself excludes loving others is by no means restricted
to theology and philosophy, but it became one of the stock
ideas promulgated in home, school, motion pictures, books;
indeed in all instruments of social suggestion as well. “Don’t
be selfish” is a sentence which has been impressed upon
millions of children, generation after generation. Its mean-
ing is somewhat vague. Most people would say that it means
not to be egotistical, inconsiderate, without any concern for
others. Actually, it generally means more than that. Not
to be selfish implies not to do what one wishes, to give up

stanza 935.

Thus Spake Zarathustra, p. 76.
p. 102.

*®See Friedrich Nietzsche, The Twilight of Idols, trans. by M.
Ludovici (Edinburgh: T. N. Foulis, 1911), stanza 3;; Ecce Homo, tians.
by A. M. Ludovici (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1911), stanza
2; Nachlass, Nietzsches Werke (Leipzig: A. Kroener), pp. 63-64.

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST I27

one’s own wishes for the sake of those in authority. “Don't
be selfish,” in the last analysis, has the same ambiguity that
it has in Calvinism. Aside from its obvious implication, it
means, “don’t love yourself,” “don’t be yourself,” but sub-
mit yourself to something more important than yourself,
to an outside power or its internalization, “duty.” “Don’t
be selfish” becomes one of the most powerful ideological
tools in suppressing spontaneity and the free development
of personality. Under the pressure of this slogan one is
asked for every sacrifice and for complete submission: only
those acts are “unselfish” which do not serve the individual
but somebody or something outside himself.

This picture, we must repeat, is in a certain sense one-
sided. For besides the doctrine that one should not be
selfish, the opposite is also propagandized in modern society:
keep your own advantage in mind, act according to what is
best for you; by so doing you will also be acting for the
greatest advantage of all others. As a matter of fact, the idea
that egotism is the basis of the general welfare is the prin-
ciple on which competitive society has been built. It is
puzzling that two such seemingly contradictory principles
could be taught side by side in one culture; of the fact,
however, there is no doubt. One result of this contradiction
is confusion in the individual. Torn between the two doc-
trines, he is seriously blocked in the process of integrating
his personality. This confusion is one of the most signifi-
cant sources of the bewilderment and helplessness of mod-
em man.^®

The doctrine that love for oneself is identical with “self-

**This point has been emphasized by Karen Homey, The Neurotic
Personality of Our Time (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1937),
and by Robert S. Lynd, Knowledge for What? (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1939).

128 PROBLEMS^ OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ishness” and an alternative to love for others has pervaded
theology, philosophy, and popular thought; the same doc-
trine has ^en rationalized in scientific language in Freud’s
theory of narcissism. Freud’s concept presupposes a fixed
amount of libido. In the infant, all of the libid' has the
child’s own person as its objective, the stage of “primary
narcissism,” as Freud calls it. During the individual’s devel-
opment, the libido is shifted from one’s own person toward
other objects. If a person is blocked in his “object-relation-
ships,” the libido is withdrawn from the objects and re-
turned to his own person; this is called “secondary narcis-
sism.” According to Freud, the more love I turn toward the
outside world the less love is left for myself, and vice versa.
He thus describes the phenomenon of love as an impover-
ishment of one’s self-love because all libido is turned to an
object outside oneself.

These questions arise: Does psychological observation
support the thesis that there is a basic contradiction and a
state of alternation between love for oneself and love for
others? Is love for oneself the same phenomenon as selfish-
ness, or are they opposites? Furthermore, is the selfishness
of modern man really a concern for himself as an individual,
with all his intellectual, emotional, and sensual potentiali-
ties? Has “he” not become an appendage of his socioeco-
nomic role? Is his selfishness identical with self-love or is it
not caused by the very lack of it?

Before we start the discussion of the psychological aspect
of selfishness and self-love, the logical fallacy in the notion
that love for others and love for oneself are mutually ex-
clusive should be stressed. If it is a virtue to love my neigh-
bor as a human being, it must be a virtue— and not a vice—
to love myself since I am a human being too. There is no

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST 129

concept of man in which I myself am not included. A
doctrine which proclaims such an exclusion proves itself to
be intrinsically contradictory. The idea expressed in the
Biblical “Love thy neighbor as thyself!” implies that respect
for one’s own integrity and uniqueness, love for and under-
standing of one’s own self, can not be separated from re-
spect for and love and understanding of another individual.
The love for my own self is inseparably connected with the
love for any other self.

We have come now to the basic psychological premises
on which the conclusions of our argument are built. Gen-
erally, these premises are as follows: not only others, but we
ourselves are the “object” of our feelings and attitudes; the
attitudes toward others and toward ourselves, far from being
contradictory, are basically conjunctive. With regard to the
problem under discussion this means: Love of others and
love of ourselves are not alternatives. On the contrary, an
attitude of love toward themselves will be found in all those
who are capable of loving others. Love, in principle, is in-
divisible as far as the connection between “objects” and
one’s own self is concerned. Genuine love is an expression
of productiveness and implies care, respect, responsibility,
and knowledge. It is not an “affect” in the sense of being
affected by somebody, but an active striving for the growth
and happiness of the loved person, rooted in one’s own
capacity to love.

To love is an expression of one’s power to love, and to
love somebody is the actualization and concentration of this
power with regard to one person. It is not true, as the idea
of romantic love would have it, that there is only the one
person in the world whom one could love and that it is the
great chance of one’s life to find that one person. Nor is it

130 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

true, if that person be found that love for him (or her)
results in a withdrawal of love from others. Love which can
only be experienced with regard to one person demonstrates
by this very fact that it is not love, but a symbiotic attach-
ment. The basic affirmation contained in love is directed
toward the beloved person as an incarnation of essentially
human qualities. Love of one person implies love of man as
such. The kind of “division of labor” as William James calls
it, by which one loves one’s family but is without feeling for
the “stranger,” is a sign of a basic inability to love. Love
of man is not, as is frequently supposed, an abstraction
coming after the love for a specific person, but it is its
premise, although, genetically, it is acquired in loving spe-
cific individuals.

From this it follows that my own self, in principle, must
be as much an object of my love as another person. The
affirmation of one’s own life, happiness, growth, freedom,
is rooted in one’s capacity to love, i.e., in care, respect, re-
sponsibility, and knowledge. If an individual is able to love
productively, he loves himself too; if he can love only
others, he can not love at all.

Granted that love for oneself and for others in principle
is conjunctive, how do we explain selfishness, which ob-
viously excludes any genuine concern for others? 'The selfish
person is interested only in himself, wants everything for
himself, feels no pleasure in giving, but only in taking. The
world outside is looked at only from the standpoint of what
he can get out of it; he lacks interest in the needs of others,
and respect for their dignity and integrity. He can see
nothing but himself; he judges everyone and everything
from its usefulness to him; he is basically unable to love.
Does not this prove that concern for others and concern

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST I3I

for oneself are unavoidable alternatives? This would be so
if selfishness and self-love were identical. But that assump-
tion is the very fallacy which has led to so many mistaken
conclusions concerning our problem. Selfishness and self-
love, far from being identical, are actually opposites. The
selfish person does not love himself too much but too little;
in fact he hates himself. This lack of fondness and care for
himself, which is only one expression of his lack of produc-
tiveness, leaves him empty and frustrated. He is necessarily
unhappy and anxiously concerned to snatch from life the
satisfactions which he blocks himself from attaining. He
seems to care too much for himself but actually he only
makes an unsuccessful attempt to cover up and compensate
for his failure to care for his real self. Freud holds that the
selfish person is narcissistic, as if he had withdrawn his love
from others and turned it toward his own person. It is true
that selfish persons are incapable of loving others, but they
are not capable of loving themselves either.

It is easier to understand selfishness by comparing it with
greedy concern for others, as we find it, for instance, in an
oversolicitous, dominating mother. While she consciously
believes that she is particularly fond of her child, she has
actually a deeply repressed hostility toward the object of
her concern. She is overconcerned not because she loves the
child too much, but because she has to compensate for her
lack of capacity to love him at all.

This theory of the nature of selfishness is borne out by
psychoanalytic experience with neurotic “unselfishness,” a
symptom of neurosis observed in not a few people who
usually are troubled not by this symptom but by others con-
nected with it, like depression, tiredness, inability to work,
feiilure in love relationships, and so on. Not only is unself-

10

132 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ishness not felt as a “symptom”; it is often the one redeem-
ing character trait on ^hich such people pride themselves.
The “unselfish” person “does not want anything for him-
self”; he “lives only for others,” is proud that he does not
consider himself important. He is puzzled to find that in
spite of his unselfishness he is unhappy, and that his rela-
tionships to those closest to him are unsatisfactory. He
wants to have what he considers are his symptoms removed
—but not his unselfishness. Analytic work shows that his
unselfishness is not something apart from his other symp-
toms but one of them; in fact often the most important
one; that he is paralyzed in his capacity to love or to enjoy
anything; that he is pervaded by hostility against life and
that behind the fagade of unselfishness a subtle but not less
intense self-centeredness is hidden. This person can be cured
only if his unselfishness too is interpreted as a symptom
along with the others so that his lack of productiveness,
which is at the root of both his unselfishness and his other
troubles, can be corrected.

The nature of unselfishness becomes particularly apparent
in its effect on others and most frequently, in our culture,
in the effect the “unselfish” mother has on her children.
She believes that by her unselfishness her children will ex-
perience what it means to be loved and to learn, in turn,
what it means to love. The effect of her unselfishness, how-
ever, does not at all correspond to her expectations. The
children do not show the happiness of persons who are
convinced that they are loved; they are anxious, tense, afraid
of the mother’s disapproval and anxious to live up to her
expectations. Usually, they are affected by their mother's
hidden hostility against life, which they sense rather than
recognize, and eventually become imbued with it them-

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST I33

selves. Altogether, the effect of the “unselfish” mother is
not too different from that of the selfish one; indeed, it is
often worse because the mother’s unselfishness prevents the
children from criticizing her. They are put under the obliga-
tion not to disappoint her; they are taught, under the mask
of virtue, dislike for life. If one has a chance to study the
effect of a mother with genuine self-love, one can see that
there is nothing more conducive to giving a child the ex-
perience of what love, joy, and happiness are than being
loved by a mother who loves herself.

Having analyzed selfishness and self-love we can now pro-
ceed to discuss the concept of self-interest, which has be-
come one of the key symbols in modem society. It is even
more ambiguous than selfishness or self-love, and this am-
biguity can be fully understood only by taking into account
the historical development of the concept of self-interest.
The problem is what is considered to constitute self-interest
and how it can be determined.

There are two fundamentally different approaches to this
problem. One is the objectivistic approach most clearly
formulated by Spinoza. To him self-interest or the interest
“to seek one’s profit” is identical with virtue. “The more,”
he says, “each person strives and is able to seek his profit,
that is to say, to preserve his being, the more virtue does he
possess; on the other hand, in so far as each person neglects
his own profit he is impotent.” ” According to this view,
the interest of man is to preserve his existence, which is the
same as realizing his inherent potentialities. 'This concept
of self-interest is objectivistic inasmuch as “interest” is not
conceived in terms of the subjective feeling of what one’s
interest is but in terms of what the nature of man is, ob-
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 20.

134 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

jectively. Man has only one real interest and that is the full
development of his potentialities, of himself as a human
being. Just as one has to know another person and his real
needs in order to love him, one has to know one’s own sdf
in order to understand what the interests of this self are
and how they can be served. It follows that man can deceive
himself about his real self-interest if he is ignorant of his
self and its real needs and that the science of man is the
basis for determining what constitutes man’s self-interest.

In the last three hundred years the concept of self-
interest has increasingly been narrowed until it has assumed
almost the opposite meaning which it has in Spinoza’s
thinking. It has become identical with selfishness, with in>
terest in material gains, power, and suecess; and instead of
its being synonymous with virtue, its conquest has become
an ethical commandment.

This deterioration was made possible by the change from
the objectivistie into the erroneously subjectivistie approach
to self-interest. Self-interest was no longer to be deter-
mined by the nature of man and his needs; eorrespondingly,
the notion that one could be mistaken about it was relin-
quished and replaced by the idea that what a person felt
represented the interest of his self was necessarily his true
self-interest.

The modern concept of self-interest is a strange blend
of two contradictory concepts: that of Calvin and Luther
on the one hand, and on the other, that of the progressive
thinkers since Spinoza. Calvin and Luther had taught that
man must suppress his self-interest and consider himself
only an instrument for God’s purposes. Progressive think-
ers, on the contrary, have taught that man ought to be only
an end for himself and not a means for any purpose tran-

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST 135

scending him. What happened was that man has accepted
the contents of the Calvinistic doctrine while rejecting its
religious formulation. He has made himself an instrument,
not of God's will but of the economic machine or the state.
He has accepted the role of a tool, not for God but for in-
dustrial progress; he has worked and amassed money but
essentially not for the pleasure of spending it and of enjoy-
ing life but in order to save, to invest, to be successful.
Monastic asceticism has been, as Max Weber has pointed
out, replaced by an inner-worldly asceticism where personal
happiness and enjoyment are no longer the real aims of lifr
But this attitude was increasingly divorced from the one
expressed in Calvin’s concept and blended with that ex-
pressed in the progressive concept of self-interest, which
taught that man had the right— and the obligation— to make
the pursuit of his self-interest the supreme norm of life.
The result is that modern man lives according to the prin-
ciples of self-denial and thinks in terms of self-interest. He
believes that he is acting in behalf of his interest when ac-
tually his paramount concern is money and success; he de-
ceives himself about the fact that his most important
human potentialities remain unfulfilled and that he loses
himself in the process of seeking what is supposed to be
best for him.

The deterioration of the meaning of the concept of self-
interest is closely related to the change in the concept of
self. In the Middle Ages man felt himself to be an intrinsic
part of the social and religious community in reference to
which he conceived his own self when he as an individual
had not yet fully emerged from his group. Since the begin-
ning of the modern era, when man as an individual was
faced with the task of experiencing himself as an independ-

136 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ent entity, his own identi^ became a problem. In the eight-
eenth and nineteenth centuries the concept of self was nar-
rowed down increasingly; the self was felt to be constituted
by the property one had. The formula for this concept of
self was no longer “I am what I think” but “I am what I
have,” “what I possess.” “

In the last few generations, under the growing influence
of the market, the concept of self has shifted from meaning
“I am what I possess” to meaning “I am as you desire
me.” “ Man, living in a market economy, feels himself to
be a commodity. He is divorced from himself, as the seller
of a commodity is divorced from what he wants to sell. To
be sure, he is interested in himself, immensely interested in

William James expressed this concept very clearly. “To have/' he
says, “a self that I can care for, Nature must first present me with some
object interesting enough to make me instinctively wish to appropriate it
for its own sake. . . . My own body and what ministers to its needs arc
thus the primitive object, instinctively determined, of my egoistic interests.
Other objects may become interesting derivatively, through association
with any of these things, either as means or as habitual concomitants;
and so, in a thousand ways, the primitive sphere of the egoistic emotions
may enlarge and change its boundaries. This sort of interest is really the
meaning of the word mine. Whatever has it, is, eo ipso, a nart of me!*'
— Piinciples of Psychology f New York: Hcniy Holt and Company, a vok,
1896), I, 319, 324. Elsewhere James writes: “It is dear that between
what a man calls me and what he simply calls mine, the line is difficult to
draw. We feel and act about cdtain things that are ours very much as
we feel and act about ourselves. Our fame, our children, the work of our
hands, may be as dear to us as our bodies are, and arouse the same feelings
and the same acts of reprisal if attacked. ... In its widest possible sense,
however, a man’s Self is the sum-total of all that he can call his, not only
his body, and hzs psychic powers, but his clothes and his house, his wife
and children, his ancestors and friends, his reputation and works, his land
and horses and yacht and bank account. All these things give him the
same emotions. If they wax or prosper, he feels triumphant, if thqr
dwindle and die away, he feels cast down — not necessarily in the same
degree for each thing, but in much the same way for all." — Ibid,, I, 291-
292.

^Pirandello in his plays has expressed this concept of self and the
self doubt resulting from it.

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST I37

his success on the market, but “he” is the manager, the em-
ployer, the seller— and the commodity. His self-interest
turns out to be the interest of “him” as the subject who
employs “himself,” as the commodity which should obtain
the optimal price on the personality market.

The “fallacy of self-interest” in modern man has never
been described better than by Ibsen in Peer Gynt. Peer
Gynt believes that his whole life is devoted to the attain-
ment of the interests of his self. He describes this self as:

“The Gyntian Self!

— An army, that, of wishes, appetites, desires!

The Gyntian Self!

It is a sea of fancies, claims and aspirations;

In fact, it’s all that swells within my breast

And makes it come about that I am I and live as such.”

At the end of his life he recognizes that he had deceived
himself; that while following the principle of “self-interest”
he had failed to recognize what the interests of his real self
were, and had lost the very self he sought to preserve. He is
told that he never had been himself and that therefore he
is to be thrown back into the melting pot to be dealt with
as raw material. He discovers that he has lived according to
the Troll principle: “To thyself be enough”— which is the
opposite of the human principle: “To thyself be true.” He
is seized by the horror of nothingness to which he, who has
no self, can not help succumbing when the props of pseudo
self, success, and possessions are taken away or seriously
questioned. He is forced to recognize that in trying to gain
all the wealth of the world, in relentlessly pursuing what
Loc. cit, Act V, Scene I.

138 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

seemed to be his interest, he had lost his soul— or, as I
would rather say, his self. ^

The deteriorated meaning of the concept of self-interest
which pervades modern society has given rise to attacks on
democracy from the various types of totalitarian ideologies.
These claim that capitalism is morally wrong because it is
governed by the principle of selfishness, and commend the
moral superiority of their own systems by pointing to their
principle of the unselfish subordination of the individual to
the "higher” purposes of the state, the “race,” or the “so-
cialist fatherland.” They impress not a few with this criti-
cism because many people feel that there is no happiness in
the pursuit of selfish interest, and are imbued with a striv-
ing, vague though it may be, for a greater solidarity and mu-
tual responsibility among men.

We need not waste much time arguing against the to-
talitarian claims. In the first place, they are insincere since
they only disguise the extreme selfishness of an “elite” that
wishes to conquer and retain power over the majority of the
population. Their ideology of unselfishness has the purpose
of deceiving those subject to the control of the elite and
of facilitating their exploitation and manipulation. Further-
more, the totalitarian ideologies confuse the issue by mak-
ing it appear that they represent the principle of unselfish-
ness when they apply to the state as a whole the principle
of ruthless pursuit of selfishness. Each citizen ought to be
devoted to the common welfare, but the state is permitted
to pursue its own interest without regard to the welfare of
other nations. But quite aside from the fact that the doc-
trines of totalitarianism are disguises for the most extreme
selfishness, they are a revival— in secular language— of the
religious idea of intrinsic human powerlessness and impo-

SELFISHNESS, SELF-LOVE, AND SELF-INTEREST 139

tence and the resulting need for submission, to overcome
which was the essence of modern spiritual and political
progress. Not only do the authoritarian ideologies threaten
the most precious achievement of Western culture, the re-
spect for the uniqueness and dignity of the individual; they
also tend to block the way to constructive criticism of mod-
ern society, and thereby to necessary changes. The failure
of modern culture lies not in its principle of individualism,
not in the idea that moral virtue is the same as the pursuit
of self-interest, but in the deterioration of the meaning of
self-interest; not in the fact that people are too much con-
cerned with their self-interest, but that they are not con-
cerned enough with the interest of their real self; not in the
fact that they are too selfish, but that they do not love
themselves.

If the causes for persevering in the pursuit of a fictitious
idea of self-interest are as deeply rooted in the contempo-
rary social structure as indicated above, the chances for a
change in the meaning of self-interest would seem to be re-
mote indeed, unless one can point to specific factors oper-
ating in the direction of change.

Perhaps the most important factor is the inner dissatis-
faction of modern man with the results of his pursuit of
“self-interest.” The religion of success is crumbling and be-
coming a facade itself. The social “open spaces” grow
narrower; the failure of the hopes for a better world after
the First World War, the depression at the end of the
twenties, the threat of a new and immensely destructive war
so shortly after the Second World War, and the boundless
insecurity resulting from this threat, shake the faith in the
pursuit of this form of self-interest. Aside from these fac-
tors, the worship of success itself has failed to satisfy man's

140 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ineradicable striving to be himself. Like so many fantasies
and daydreams, this one tdo fulfilled its function only for a
time, as long as it was new, as long as the excitement con-
nected with it was strong enough to keep man from con-
sidering it soberly. There is an increasing number of people
to whom everything they are doing seems futile. They are
still under the spell of the slogans which preach faith in
the secular paradise of success and glamour. But doubt, the
fertile condition of all progress, has begun to beset them
and has made them ready to ask what their real self-interest
as human beings is.

This inner disillusionment and the readiness for a re-
valuation of self-interest could hardly become effective un-
less the economic conditions of our culture permitted it. I
have pointed out that while the canalizing of all human
energy into work and the striving for success was one of the
indispensable conditions of the enormous achievement of
modern capitalism, a stage has been reached where the prob-
lem of production has been virtually solved and where the
problem of the organization of social life has become the.
paramount task of mankind. Man has created such sources of
mechanical energy that he has freed himself from the task
of putting all his human energy into work in order to pro-
duce the material conditions for living. He could spend a
considerable part of his energy on the task .of living itself!

Only if these two conditions, the subjective dissatisfacf
tion with a culturally patterned aim and the socioeconomic
basis for a change, are present, can an indispensable third
factor, rational insight, become effective. This holds true as
a principle of social and psychological change in general
and of the change in the meaning of self-interest in particu-
lar. The time has come when the anesthetized striving for

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF I4I

the pursuit of man’s real interest is coming to life again.
Once man knows what his self-interest is, the first, and the
most difficult, step to its realization has been taken.

2. Conscience, Man’s Recall to Himself

Whoever talks about and reflects upon an evil thing he
has done, is thinking the vileness he has perpetrated, and
what one thinks, therein is one caught— with one’s whole
soul one is caught utterly in what one thinks, and so he
is still caught in vileness. And he will surely not be able
to turn, for his spirit will coarsen and his heart rot, and
besides this, a sad mood may come upon him. What would
you? Stir filth this way or that, and it is still filth. To have
sinned or not to have sinned— what does it profit us in
heaven? In the time I am brooding on this, I could be
stringing pearls for the joy of heaven. 'That is why it is
written: “Depart from evil, and do good”— turn wholly
from evil, do not brood in its way, and do good. You have
done wrong? Then balance it by doing right.

Isaac Meier of Ger

'There is no prouder statement man can make than to say:
“I shall act according to my conscience.” 'Throughout his-
tory men have upheld the principles of justice, love, and
truth against every kind of pressure brought to bear upon
them in order to make them relinquish what they knew and
believed. 'The prophets acted according to their conscience
when they denounced their country and predicted its down-
fall because of its corruption and injustice. Socrates pre-
ferred death to a course in which he would have betrayed
his conscience by compromising with the truth. Without

»* 7 n Time and Eternity, ed. by N. N. Glatzer (New York: Schocken
Books, 1946).

142 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

the existence of conscience, the human race would have
bogged down long ago in its hazardous course.

Different from these men are others who also have
claimed to be motivated by their conscience: the men of
the Inquisition who burned men of conscience at the stake,
claiming to do so in the name of their conscience; the
predatory warmakers claiming to act on behalf of their
conscience when they put their lust for power above all
other considerations. In fact, there is hardly any act of
cruelty or indifference against others or oneself which has
not been rationalized as the dictate of conscience, thus
showing the power of conscience in its need to be pla-
cated.

Conscience in its various empirical manifestations is in-
deed confusing. Are these various kinds of conscience the
same, with only their contents differing? Are they different
phenomena with only the name “conscience” in common?
Or does the assumption of the existence of conscience turn
out to be untenable when we investigate the phenomenon
empirically as a problem of human motivation?

To these questions, the philosophical literature on con-
science brings a wealth of clues. Cicero and Seneca speak of
conscience as the inner voice which accuses and defends
our conduct with respect to its ethical qualities. Stoic
philosophy relates it to self-preservation (taking care of
oneself), and it is described by Chrysippus as the conscious-
ness of harmony within oneself In scholastic philosophy,
conscience is considered to be the law of reason (lex ra-
tionis) implanted in man by God. It is differentiated from
“synderesis”; while the latter is the habit (or faculty) of
judging, and of willing the right, the former applies the
general principle to particular actions. Although the term

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF 143

“s5mderesis” has been dropped by modern writers, the term
“conscience” is used frequently for what scholastic philos-
ophy had meant by synderesis, the inner awareness of moral
principles. The emotional element in this awareness was
stressed by English writers. Shaftesbury, for instance, as-
sumed the existence of a “moral sense” in man, a sense of
right and wrong, an emotional reaction, based on the fact
that the mind of man is itself in harmony with the cosmic
order. Butler proposed that moral principles are an intrinsic
part of the constitution of man and identified conscience
particularly with the innate desire for benevolent action.
Our feelings for others and our reaction to their approval
or disapproval are the core of conscience according to Adam
Smith. Kant abstracted conscience from all specific con-
tents and identified it with the sense of duty as such.
Nietzsche, a bitter critic of the religious “bad conscience,”
saw genuine conscience rooted in self-affirmation, in the
ability to “say yes to one’s self.” Max Schelcr believed con-
science to be the expression of rational judgment, but a
judgment by feeling and not by thought.

But important problems are still left unanswered and
untouched, problems of motivation on which the data of
psychoanalytic research may shed sqme more light. In the
following discussion we shall distinguish between “authori-
tarian” and “humanistic” conscience, a differentiation
which follows the general line of distinction between au-
thoritarian and humanistic ethics.

A. AUTHORITARIAN CONSCIENCE

The authoritarian conscience is the voice of an inter-
nalized external authority, the parents, the state, or who-

144 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ever the authorities in a culture happen to be. As long as
people’s relationships to ''the authorities remain external,
without ethical sanction, we can hardly speak of conscience;
such conduct is merely expediential, regulated by fear of
punishment and hope for reward, always dependent on the
presence of these authorities, on their knowledge of what
one is doing, and their alleged or real ability to punish and
to reward. Often an experience which people take to be a
feeling of guilt springing from their conscience is really
nothing but their fear of such authorities. Properly speak-
ing, these people do not feel guilty but afraid. In the forma-
tion of conscience, however, such authorities as the parents,
the church, the state, public opinion are either consciously
or unconsciously accepted as ethical and moral legislators
whose laws and sanctions one adopts, thus internalizing
them. The laws and sanctions of external authority become
part of oneself, as it were, and instead of feeling responsible
to something outside oneself, one feels responsible to some-
thing inside, to one’s conscience. Conscience is a more
effective regulator of conduct than fear of external author-
ities; for, while one can run away from the latter, one can
not escape from oneself nor, therefore, from the internal-
ized authority which has become part of oneself. The au-
thoritarian conscience is what Freud has described as the
Super-Ego; but as I shall show later, this is only one form
of conscience or, possibly, a preliminary stage in the devel-
opment of conscience.

While authoritarian conscience is different from fear of
punishment and hope for reward, the relationship to the
authority having become internalized, it is not .very dif-
ferent in other essential respects. The most important point
of similarity is the fact that the prescriptions of authoriterian

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF 145

conscience are not determined by one's own value judg-
ment but exclusively by the fact that its commands and
tabus are pronounced by authorities. If these norms happen
to be good, conscience will guide man’s action in the direc-
tion of the good. However, they have not become the
norms of conscience because they are good, but because
they are the norms given by authority. If they are bad, they
are just as much part of conscience. A believer in Hitler, for
instance, felt he was acting according to his conscience
when he committed acts that were humanly revolting.

But even though the relationship to authority becomes
internalized, this internalization must not be imagined to
be so complete as to divorce conscience from the external
authorities. Such complete divorcement, which we can
study in cases of obsessional neurosis, is the exception
rather than the rule; normally, the person whose conscience
is authoritarian is bound to the external authorities and to
their internalized echo. In fact, there is a constant inter-
action between the two. The presence of external au-
thorities by whom a person is awed is the source which
continuously nourishes the internalized authority, the con-
science. If the authorities did not exist in reality, that is, if
the person had no reason to be afraid of them, then the
authoritarian conscience would weaken and lose power.
Simultaneously, the conscience influences the image which
a person has of the external authorities. For such con-
science is always colored by man’s need to admire, to have
some ideal,®® to strive for some kind of perfection, and the
image of perfection is projected upon the external author-
ities. The result is that the picture of these authorities is, in

**This side was stressed by Freud in his early concept of the ‘‘Ego-
Ideal.”

146 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

turn, colored by the “i^eal" aspect of conscience. This is
very important because the concept a person has of the
qualities of the authorities differs from their real qualities;
it becomes more and more idealized and, therefore, more
apt to be re-intemalized.*® Very often this interaction of
internalization and projection results in an unshakable con-
viction in the ideal character of the authority, a conviction
which is immune to all contradictory empirical evidence.

The contents of the authoritarian conscience are derived
from the commands and tabus of the authority; its strength
is rooted in the emotions of fear of, and admiration for,
the authority. Good conscience is consciousness of pleasing
the (external and internalized) authority; guilty conscience
is the consciousness of displeasing it The good (authori-
tarian) conscience produces a feeling of well-being and
security, for it implies approval by, and greater closeness to,
the authority; the guilty conscience produces fear and in-
security, because acting against the will of the authority
implies the danger of being punished and— what is worse—
of being deserted by the authority.

In order to understand the full impact of the last state-
ment we must remember the character structure of the
authoritarian person. He has found inner security by be-
coming, symbiotically, part of an authority felt to be greater
and more powerful than himself. As long as he is part of
that authority— at the expense of his own integrity— he feels
that he is participating in the authority’s strength. His feel-
ing of certainty and identity depends on this symbiosis; to
be rejected by the authority means to be thrown into a

A more detailed analysis of the relationship of conscience and author-
ity is to be found in my discussion of the subject in Studien ueber Autori-
taet und Familie, ed. by M. Horkheimer (Paris: Fdix Alcan, 1936).

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF I47

void, to face the horror of nothingness. Anything, to the
authoritarian character, is better than this. To be sure, the
love and approval of the authority give him the greatest
satisfaction; but even punishment is better than rejection.
The punishing authority is still with him, and if he has
“sinned,” the punishment is at least proof that the author-
ity still cares. By his acceptance of the punishment his sin
is wiped out and the security of belonging is restored.

The Biblical report of Cain’s crime and punishment
offers a classic illustration of the fact that what man is most
afraid of is not punishment but rejection. God accepted
Abel’s offerings but did not accept Cain’s. Without giving
any reason, God did to Cain the worst thing that can be
done to a man who can not live without being acceptable
to an authority. He refused his offering and thus rejected
him. The rejection was unbearable for Cain, so Cain killed
the rival who had deprived him of the indispensable. What
was Cain’s punishment? He was not killed or even harmed;
as a matter of fact, God forbade anyone to kill him (the
mark of Cain was meant to protect him from being killed) .
His punishment was to be made an outcast; after God had
rejected him, he was then separated from his fellow men.
This punishment was indeed one of which Cain had to say:
“My punishment is greater than I can bear.”

So far I have dealt with the formal structure of the au-
thoritarian conscience by showing that the good conscience
is the consciousness of pleasing the (external and inter-
nalized) authorities; the guilty conscience, the conscious-
ness of displeasing them. We turn now to the question of
what the contents of good and of guilty authoritarian con-
science are. While it is obvious that any transgression of
positive norms postulated by the authority constitutes dis-

148 PROBLEMS OF HUMANIS1/1C ETHICS

obedience and, therefore, guilt (regardless of whether or
not these norms in themselves are good or bad), there are
offenses which are intrinsic to any authoritarian situation.

The prime offense in the authoritarian situation is re-
bellion against the authority’s rule. Thus disobedience be-
comes the “cardinal sin”; obedience, the cardinal virtue.
Obedience implies the recognition of the authority’s su-
perior power and wisdom; his right to command, to reward,
and to punish according to his own fiats. The authority
demands submission not only because of the fear of its
power but out of the conviction of its moral superiority and
right. The respect due the authority carries with it the tabu
on questioning it. The authority may deign to give explana-
tions for his commands and prohibitions, his rewards and
punishments, or he may refrain from doing so; but never
has the individual the right to question or to criticize. If
there seem to be any reasons for criticizing the authority, it
is the individual subject to the authority who must be at
fault; and the mere fact that such an individual dares to
criticize is ipso facto proof that he is guilty.

The duty of recognizing the authority’s superiority re-
sults in several prohibitions. The most comprehensive of
these is the tabu against feeling oneself to be, or ever able
to become, like the authority, for this would contradict the
latter’s unqualified superiority and uniqueness. The real sin
of Adam and Eve is, as has been pointed out before, the
attempt to become like God; and it is as punishment for
this challenge and simultaneously as deterrence of a repeti-
tion of it that they are expelled from the Garden of Eden.®*

®*The idea that man is created in '‘God's image" transcends the
authoritarian structure of this part of the Old Testament and is in fact
the other pole around which Judaeo-Christian religion has developed,
particularly in its mystical representatives.

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF I49

In authoritarian systems the authority is made out to be
fundamentally different from his subjects. He has powers
not attainable by anyone else; magic, wisdom, strength
which can never be matched by his subjects. Whatever the
authority’s prerogatives are, whether he is the master of the
universe or a unique leader sent by fate, the fundamental
inequality between him and man is the basic tenet of au-
thoritarian conscience. One particularly important aspect
of the uniqueness of the authority is the privilege of being
the only one who does not follow another’s will, but who
himself wills; who is not a means but an end in himself;
who creates and is not created. In the authoritarian orienta-
tion, the power of will and creation are the privilege of the
authority. Those subject to him are means to his end and,
consequently, his property and used by him for his own
purposes. The supremacy of the authority is questioned by
the attempt of the creature to cease being a thing and to
become a creator.

But man has never yet ceased striving to produce and to
create because productiveness is the source of strength,
freedom, and happiness. However, to the extent to which
he feels dependent on powers transcending him, his very
productiveness, the assertion of his will, makes him feel
guilty. The men of Babel were punished for trying by the
efforts of a unified human race to build a city reaching to
heaven. Prometheus was chained to the rock for having
given man the secret of fire, symbolizing productiveness.
Pride in the power and strength of man was denounced
by Luther and Calvin as sinful pride; by political dic-
tators, as criminal individualism. Man tried to appease the
gods for the crime of productiveness by sacrifices, by giv-
ing them the best of the crop or of the herd. Circum-

150 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

cision is another attempt at such appeasement; part of the
phallus, the symbol of' male creativeness, is sacrificed to
God so that man may retain the right to its use. In addition
to sacrifices in which man pays tribute to the gods by
acknowledging— if only symbolically— their monopoly on
productiveness, man curbs his own powers by feelings of
guilt, rooted in the authoritarian conviction that the exer-
cise of his own will and creative power is a rebellion against
the authority’s prerogatives to be the sole creator and that
the subjects' duty is to be his “things.” This feeling of guilt,
in turn, weakens man, reduces his power, and increases his
submission in order to atone for his attempt to be his “own
creator and builder.”

Paradoxically, the authoritarian guilty conscience is a re-
sult of the feeling of strength, independence, productive-
ness, and pride, while the authoritarian good conscience
springs from the feeling of obedience, dependence, power-
lessness, and sinfulness. St. Paul, Augustine, Luther, and
Calvin have described this good conscience in unmistakable
terms. To be aware of one’s powerlessness, to despise one-
self, to be burdened by the feeling of one’s own sinfulness
and wickedness are the signs of goodness. 'The very fact of
having a guilty conscience is in itself a sign of one’s virtue
because the guilty conscience is the symptom of one’s “fear
and trembling” before the authority. 'ITie paradoxical re-
sult is that the (authoritarian) guilty conscience becomes
the basis for a “good” conscience, while the good con-
science, if one should have it, ought to create a feeling of
guilt

The internalization of authority has two implications:
one, which we have just discussed, where man submits to
the audiority; the other, where he takes over the role of

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF IJl

the authority by treating himself with the same strictness
and cruelty. Man thus becomes not only the obedient slave
but also the strict taskmaster who treats himself as his own
slave. This second implication is very important for the
understanding of the psychological mechanism of authori-
tarian conscience. The authoritarian character, being more
or less crippled in his productiveness, develops a certain
amount of sadism and destructiveness.®® These destructive
energies are discharged by taking over the role of the au-
thority and dominating oneself as the servant. In the
analysis of the Super-Ego, Freud has given a description of
its destructive components which has been amply con-
firmed by clinical data collected by other observers. It does
not matter whether one assumes, as Freud did in his earlier
writings, that the root of aggression is to be found mainly
in instinctual frustration or, as he assumed later, in the
“death-instinct.” What matters is the fact that the au-
thoritarian conscience is fed by destructiveness against the
person’s own self so that destructive strivings are thus per-
mitted to operate under the disguise of virtue. Psychoana-
lytic exploration, especially of the obsessional character, re-
veals the degree of cruelty and destructiveness conscience
sometimes has, and how it enables one to act out the
lingering hate by turning it against oneself. Freud has con-
vincingly demonstrated the correctness of Nietzsche’s thesis
that the blockage of freedom turns man’s instincts “back-
ward against man himself. Enmity, cruelty, the delight in
persecution, in surprises, change, destruction— the turning
of all these instincts against their own possessors: this is
the origin of the ‘bad conscience.’ ” ®®

85 F. Nietzsche, The Genealogy of Morals, II, i6.

wjbid, II, i6.

152 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

Most religious and political systems in the history of
mankind could serve as ''illustrations of the authoritarian
conscience. Since I have analyzed Protestantism and
Fascism from this point of view in Escape from Freedom
I shall not give historical illustrations here, but shall limit
myself to the discussion of some aspects of the authori-
tarian conscience as they can be observed in the parent-
child relationships in our culture.

The use of the term “authoritarian conscience” in refer-
ence to our culture may surprise the reader, since we are
accustomed to think of authoritarian attitudes as being
characteristic only of authoritarian, nondemocratic cul-
tures; but such a view underestimates the strength of au-
thoritarian elements, especially the role of anonymous au-
thority operating in the contemporary family and society.®^

The psychoanalytic interview is one of the vantage points
for studying the authoritarian conscience in the uiban mid-
dle class. Here parental authority and the way children
cope with it are revealed as being the crucial problem of
neurosis. The analyst finds many patients incapable of
criticizing their parents at all; others, who, while criticizing
their parents in some respects, stop short of criticizing them
with regard to those qualities they themselves have suffered
from; still others feel guilty and anxious when they express
pertinent criticism or rage against one of their parents. It
often takes considerable analytic work to enable a person
even to remember incidents which provoked his anger and
criticism.®®

Cf. the discussion of anonymous authority in democratic society in
Escape from Freedom, Chap. V, p. 3.

88 F. Kafka's letter to his father, in which he tried to explain to him
why he had always been afraid of him is a classic document in this respect.
Cf. A. Franz Kafka, Miscellany (New York: Twice a Year Press, 1940).

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSF.T.F 15 j

More subtle and still more hidden are those guilt feelings
which result from the experience of not pleasing one’s
parents. Sometimes the child’s feeling of guilt is attached
to the fact of his not loving the parents sufficiently, particu-
larly when the parents expect to be the focus of the child’s
feelings. Sometimes it arises from the fear of having dis-
appointed parental expectations. 'The latter point is particu-
larly important because it refers to one of the crucial ele-
ments in the attitude of the parent in the authoritarian
family. In spite of the great difference between the Roman
paterffimilias, whose family was his property, and the mod-
ern father, the feeling that children are brought into the
world to satisfy the parents and compensate them for the
disappointments of their own lives is still widespread. 'This
attitude has found its classic expression in Creon’s famous
speech on parental authority in Sophocles’ “Antigone”;

"So it is right, my son, to be disposed—

In everything to back your father’s quarrel.

It is for this men pray to breed and rear
In their homes dutiful offspring— to requite
The foe with evil, and their father’s friend
Honour, as did their father. Whoso gets
Children unserviceable— what else could he
Be said to breed, but troubles for himself.

And store of laughter for his enemies.”

Even in our nonauthoritarian culture, it happens that parents
want their children to be “serviceable”; in order to make up
for what the parents missed in life. If the parents are not suc-
cessful, the children should attain success so as to give them

*» The Complete Greek Drama, ed. by W. J. Oates and E. O’Neill, Jr.,
Vol. I (New York: Random House, 1938).

154 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

a vicarious satisfaction. If they do npt feel loved (particu-
larly if the parents do no^love each other), the children are
to make up for it; if they feel powerless in their social life,
they want to have the satisfaction of controlling and
dominating their children. Even if the children fall in with
these expectations, they still feel guilty for not doing
enough and thus disappointing their parents.

One particularly subtle form which the feeling of dis-
appointing the parents frequently takes is caused by the
feeling of being different. Dominating parents want their
children to be like them in temperament and character.
The choleric father, for instance, is out of sympathy with
a phlegmatic son; the father interested in practical achieve-
ments is disappointed by a son interested in ideas and
theoretical inquiry, and vice versa. If the father’s attitude is
proprietary, he interprets the son’s difference from him as
inferiority; the son feels guilty and inferior because of his
being different and he tries to make himself into the kind
of person his father wants him to be; but he succeeds only
in crippling his own growth and in becoming a very imper-
fect replica of his father. Since he believes he ought to be
like his father, this failure gives him a guilty conscience.
The son, in attempting to free himself from these notions
of obligation and to become “himself,” is frequently so
heavily weighed down by a burden of guilt over this
“crime” that he falls by the wayside before ever reaching
his goal of freedom. The burden is so heavy because he has
to cope not only with his parents, with their disappoint-
ment, accusations, and appeals, but also with the whole
culture which expects children to “love” their parents. The
foregoing description, though fitting the authoritarian
family, does not seem to be conect as far as the contem-

CONSCIENCE, MAN'S RECALL TO HIMSELF

porary American, especially the urban, family is concerned
in which we find little overt authority. But the picture I
have given holds true, nevertheless, in its essential points.
Instead of overt we find anonymous authority expressed in
terms of emotionally highly charged expectations instead
of explicit commands. Moreover, the parents do not feel
themselves to be authorities, but nevertheless they are the
representatives of the anonymous authority of the market,
and they expect the children to live up to standards to
which both— the parents and the children— submit.

Not only do guilt feelings result from one’s dependence
on an irrational authority and from the feeling that it is
one's duty to please that authority but the guilt feeling in
its turn reinforces dependence. Guilt feelings have proved
to be the most effective means of forming and increasing
dependency, and herein lies one of the social functions of
authoritarian ethics throughout history. The authority as
lawgiver makes its subjects feel guilty for their many and
unavoidable transgressions. The guilt of unavoidable trans-
gressions before authority and the need for its forgiveness
thus creates an endless chain of offense, guilt feeling, and
the need for absolution which keeps the subject in bondage
and grateful for forgiveness rather than critical of the au-
thority’s demands. Tt is this interaction between guilt feel-
ing and dependency which makes for the solidity and
strength of the authoritarian relationships. The dependence
on inational authority results in a weakening of will in the
dependent person and, at the same time, whatever tends to
paralyze the will makes for an increase in dependence. Thus
a vicious circle is formed.

The most effective method for weakening the child's will
is to arouse his sense of guilt. This is done early by making

156 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

the child feel that his sexual strivings and their early mani-
festations are “bad.” Sinte the child can not help having
sexual strivings, this method of arousing guilt can hardly
fail. Once parents (and society represented by them) have
succeeded in making the association of sex and guilt per-
manent, guilt feelings are produced to the same degree, and
with the same cdnstancy as sexual impulses occur. In addi-
tion, other physical functions are blighted by “moral” con-
siderations. If the child does not go to the toilet in the
prescribed fashion, if he is not as clean as expected, if he
does net eat what he is supposed to— he is bad. At the age
of five or six the child has acquired an all-pervasive sense of
guilt because the conflict between his natural impulses and
their moral evaluation by his parents constitutes a con-
stantly generating source of guilt feelings.

Liberal and “progressive” systems of education have not
changed this situation as much as one would like to think.
Overt authority has been replaced by anonymous authority,
overt commands by “scientifically” established formulas;
“don’t do this” by “you will not like to do this.” In fact, in
many ways this anonymous authority may be even more op-
pressive than the overt one. The child is no longer aware of
being bossed (nor are the parents of giving orders), and he
cannot fight back and thus develop a sense of independ-
ence. He is coaxed and persuaded in the name of scienee,
common s^se, and cooperation— and who can fight against
such objective principles?

Once the will of the child has been broken, his sense of
guilt is reinforced in still another way. He is dimly aware of
his submission and defeat, and he must make sense of it.
He cannot accept a puzzling and painful experience with-
out trying to explain it. The rationalization in this case is.

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF 157

in principle, the same as that of the Indian untouchable or
the suffering Christian— his defeat and weakness are “ex-
plained” as being just punishment for his sins. The fact
of his loss of freedom is rationalized as proof of guilt, and
this conviction increases the guilt feeling induced by the
cultural and parental systems of value.

The child’s natural reaction to the pressure of parental
authority is rebellion, which is the essence of Freud’s
“Oedipus complex.” Freud thought that, say, the little boy,
because of his sexual desire for his mother, becomes the
rival of his father, and that the neurotic development con-
sists in the failure to cope in a satisfactory way with the
anxiety rooted in this rivalry. In pointing to the conflict be-
tween the child and parental authority and the child’s
failure to solve this conflict satisfactorily, Freud did touch
upon the roots of neurosis; in my opinion, however, this
conflict is not brought about primarily by the sexual rivalry
but results from the child’s reaction to the pressure of
parental authority, which in itself is an intrinsic part of
patriarchal society.

Inasmuch as social and parental authority tend to break
his will, spontaneity, and independence, the child, not be-
ing born to be broken, fights against the authority repre-
sented by his parents; he fights for his freedom not only
from pressure, but also for his freedom to be himself, a full-
fledged human being, not an automaton. For some children
the battle for freedom will be more successful than for
others, although only a few succeed entirely. The scars left
from the child’s defeat in the fight against irrational author-
ity are to be found at the bottom of every neurosis. They
form a syndrome the most important features of which are
the weakening or paralysis of the person’s originality and

158 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

spontaneity; the weakening of the self and the substitution
of a pseudo self in which the feeling of “I am” is dulled
and replaced by the experience of self as the sum total of
others’ expectations; the substitution of autonomy by
heteronomy; the fogginess or, to use H. S, Sullivan’s term,
the parataxic quality of all interpersonal experiences. The
most important symptom of the defeat in the fight for one-
self is the guilty conscience. If one has not succeeded in
breaking out of the authoritarian net, the unsuccessful at-
tempt to escape is proof of guilt, and only by renewed sub-
mission can the good conscience be regained.

B. HUMANISTIC CONSCIENCE

Humanistic conscience is not the internalized voice of an
authority whom we are eager to please and afraid of dis-
pleasing; it is our own voice, present in every human being
and independent of external sanctions and rewards. What
is the nature of this voice? Why do we hear it and why can
we become deaf to it?

Humanistic conscience is the reaction of our total per-
sonality to its proper functioning or dysfunctioning; not a
reaction to the functioning of this or that capacity but to
the totality of capacities which constitute our human and
our individual existence. Conscience judges our functioning
as human beings; it is (as the root of the word con-scientia
indicates) knowledge within oneself, knowledge of our re-
spective success or failure in the art of living. But although
conscience is knowledge, it is more than mere knowledge in
the realm of abstract thought. It has an affective quality,
for it is the reaction of our total personality and not only
the reaction of our mind. In fact, we need not be aware of

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF 159

what our conscience says in order to be influenced by it.

Actions, thoughts, and feelings which are conducive to
the proper functioning and unfolding of our total personal-
ity produce a feeling of inner approval, of “rightness,” char-
acteristic of the humanistic “good conscience.” On the
other hand, acts, thoughts, and feelings injurious to our
total personality produce a feeling of uneasiness and dis-
comfort, characteristic of the “guilty conscience.” Con-
science is thus a re-action of ourselves to ourselves. It is the
voice of our true selves which summons us back to our-
selves, to live productively, to develop fully and harmoni-
ously— that is, to become what we potentially are. It is the
guardian of our integrity; it is the “ability to guarantee
one’s self with all due pride, and also at the same time to
say yes to one’s self.” ^ If love can be defined as the affirma-
tion of the potentialities and the care for, and the respect
of, the uniqueness of the loved person, humanistic con-
science can be justly called the voice of out loving care for
ourselves.

Humanistic conscience represents not only the expres-
sion of our true selves; it contains also the essence of our
moral experiences in life. In it we preserve the knowledge
of our aim in life and of the principles through which to
attain it; those principles which we have discovered our-
selves as well as those we have learned from others and
which we have found to be true.

Humanistic conscience is the expression of man’s self-
interest and integrity, while authoritarian conscience is
concerned with man’s obedience, self-sacrifice, duty, or his

Nietzsche, The Genealogy of Morals, II, 3. Cf. also Heidegger's
description of conscience in M. Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, 54-60, Halle
a.s., 1927.

l60 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

“social adjustment.” The goal of humanistic conscience is
productiveness and, therefore, happiness, since happiness is
the necessary concomitant of productive living. To crip-
ple oneself by becoming a tool of others, no matter how
dignified they are made to appear, to be “selfless,” un-
happy, resigned, discouraged, is in opposition to the de-
mands of one’s conscience; any violation of the integrity
and proper functioning of our personality, with regard to
thinking as well as acting, and ei^en with regard to such mat-
ters as taste for food or sexual behavior is acting against
one’s conscience.

But is our analysis of conscience not contradicted by the
fact that in many people its voice is so feeble as not to be
heard and acted upon? Indeed, this fact is the reason for
the moral precariousness of the human situation. If con-
science always spoke loudly and distinctly enough, only a
few would be misled from their moral objective. One an-
swer follows from the very nature of conscience itself: since
its function is to be the guardian of man’s true self-interest,
it is alive to the extent to which a person has not lost him-
self entirely and become the prey of his own indifference
and destructiveness. Its relation to one’s own productive-
ness is one of interaction. '^The more productively one lives,
the stronger is one’s conscience, and, in turn, the more it
furthers one’s productiveness. The less productively one
lives, the weaker becomes one’s conscience; the paradoxical
—and tragic— situation of man is that his conscience is
weakest when he needs it most.

Another answer to the question of the relative ineffec-
tiveness of conscience is our refusal to listen and— what is
even more important— our ignorance of knowing how to
listen. People often are under the illusion that their con-

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF l6l

science will speak with a loud voice and its message will be
clear and distinct; waiting for such a voice, they do not hear
anything. But when the voice of conscience is feeble, it is
indistinct; and one has to learn how to listen and to under-
stand its communications in order to act accordingly.

However, learning to understand the communications of
one’s conscience is exceedingly difficult, mainly for two
reasons. In order to listen to the voice of our conscience,
we must be able to listen to ourselves, and this is exactly
what most people in our culture have difficulties in doing.
We listen to every voice and to everybody but not to our-
selves. We are constantly exposed to the noise of opinions
and ideas hammering at us from everywhere: motion pic-
tures, newspapers, radio, idle chatter. If we had planned in-
tentionally to prevent ourselves from ever listening to our-
selves, we could have done no better.

Listening to oneself is so difficult because this art re-
quires another ability, rare in modern man: that of being
alone with oneself. In fact, we have developed a phobia of
being alone; we prefer the most trivial and even obnoxious
company, the most meaningless activities, to being alone
with ourselves; we seem to be frightened at the prospect of
facing ourselves. Is it because we feel we would be such bad
company? I think the fear of being alone with ourselves is
rather a feeling of embarrassment, bordering sometimes on
terror at seeing a person at once so well known and so
strange; we are afraid and run away. We thus miss the
chance of listening to ourselves, and we continue to ignore
our conscience.

Listening to the feeble and indistinct voice of our con-
science is difficult also because it does not speak to us di-
rectly but indirectly and because we are often not aware that

i 62 problems of humanistic ethics

it is our conscience which disturbs us. We may feel only anx-
ious (or even sick) for a number of reasons which have no ap-
parent conneetion with our conscience. Perhaps the most fre-
quent indirect reaction of our conscience to being neglected
is a vague and unspecific feeling of guilt and uneasiness, or
simply a feeling of tiredness or listlessness. Sometimes such
feelings are rationalized as guilt feelings for not having
done this or that, when actually the omissions one feels
guilty about do not constitute genuine moral problems. But
if the genuine though unconscious feeling of guilt has be-
come too strong to be silenced by superficial rationalizations,
it finds expression in deeper and more intense anxieties and
even in physical or mental sickness.

One form of this anxiety is the fear of death; not the
normal fear of having to die which every human being ex-
periences in the contemplation of death, but a horror of
dying by which people can be possessed constantly. This
inational fear of death results from the failure of having
lived; it is the expression of our guilty conscience for having
wasted our life and missed the chance of productive use of
our eapacities. To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of hav-
ing to die without having lived is unbearable. Related to the
irrational fear of death is the fear of growing old by which
even more people in our culture are haunted. Here, too, we
find a reasonable and normal apprehension of old age which,
however, is very diflEerent in quality and intensity from the
nightmarish dread of “being too old.” Frequently we can
observe people, especially in the analytic situation, who are
obsessed by the fear of old age when they are quite young;
they are convinced that the waning of physical strength is
linked with the weakening of their total personality, their
emotional and intelleetual powers. This idea is hardly more

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF 163

than a superstition, which persists in spite of the over-
whelming evidence to the contrary. It is fostered, in our
culture, by the emphasis on so-called youthful qualities,
like quickness, adaptability, and physical vigor, which are
the qualities needed in a world primarily orientated to suc-
cess in competition rather than to the development of one's
character. But many examples show that the person who
lives productively before he is old by no means deteriorates;
on the contrary, the mental and emotional qualities he de-
veloped in the process of productive living continue to grow
although physical vigor wanes. The unproductive person,
however, indeed deteriorates in his whole personality when
his physical vigor, which had been the main spring of his
activities, dries up. The decay of the personality in old age
is a symptom: it is the proof of the failure of having lived
productively. The fear of getting old is an expression of the
feeling*— often unconscious— of living unproductively; it is
a reaction of our conscience to the mutilation of our selves.
There are cultures in which there is a greater need and,
therefore, a higher esteem for, the specific qualities of old
age, like wisdom and experience. In such cultures can we
find an attitude which is so beautifully expressed in the
following utterance of the Japanese painter Hokusai:

From the age of six I had a mania for drawing the form
of things. By the time I was fifty I had published an infinity
of designs; but all I have produced before the age of seventy
is not worth taking into account. At seventy-three I have
learned a little about the real structure of nature, of ani-
mals, plants, birds, fishes and insects. In consequence when
I am eighty, I shall have made more progress; at ninety
I shall penetrate the mystery of things; at a hundred I
shall certainly have reached a marvelous stage; and when

164 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

I am a hundred and ten, everything I do, be it but a dot
or a line, will be alive.

Written at the age of seventy-five by me, once Hokusai,
today Gwakio Rojin, the old man mad about drawing.^^

The fear of disapproval, though less dramatic than the
irrational fear of death and of old age, is a hardly less signif-
icant expression of unconscious guilt feeling. Here also we
find the inational distortion of a normal attitude: man
naturally wants to be accepted by his fellows; but modern
man wants to be accepted by everybody and therefore is
afraid to deviate, in thinking, feeling, and acting, from the
cultural pattern. One reason among others for this ina-
tional fear of disapproval is an unconscious guilt feeling. If
man cannot approve of himself because he fails in the task
of living productively, he has to substitute approval by
others for approval by himself. This craving for approval
can be fully understood only if we recognize it as a moral
problem, as the expression of the all-pervasive though un-
conscious guilt feeling.

It would seem that man can successfully shut himself
off against hearing the voice of his conscience. But there is
one state of existence in which this attempt fails, and that
is sleep. Here he is shut off from the noise hammering at
him in the daytime and receptive only to his inner experi-
ence, which is made up of many irrational strivings as well
as value judgments and insights. Sleep is often the only oc-
casion in which man cannot silence his conscience; but the
tragedy of it is that when we do hear our conscience speak
in sleep we cannot act, and that, when able to act, we forget
what we knew in our dream.

The following dream may serve as an illustration. A well-
From LaFarge, A Ta/k About Hokusai (W. C. Martin, 1896).

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF 165

known writer was offered a position where he would have
had to sell his integrity as a writer in exchange for a great
deal of money and fame; while considering whether or not
to accept the offer, he had this dream: At the foot of a
mountain, he sees two very successful men whom he de-
spises for their opportunism; they tell him to drive up the
narrow road to the peak. He follows their advice and, when
almost on the top of the mountain, his car falls off the
road, and he is killed. The message of his dream needs little
interpretation: while he slept, he knew that the acceptance
of the offered position would be equivalent to destmetion;
not, of course, to his physical death, as the symbolic lan-
guage of the dream expresses it, but to his destruction as an
integrated, productive human being.

In our discussion of conscience I have examined the
authoritarian and humanistic conscience separately in order
to show their characteristic qualities; but they are, of course,
not separated in reality and not mutually exclusive in any
one person. On the contrary, actually everybody has both
“consciences.” The problem is to distinguish their respec-
tive strength and their interrelation.

Often guilt feelings are consciously experienced in terms
of the authoritarian conscience while, dynamically, they are
rooted in the humanistic conscience; in this case the au-
thoritarian conscience is a rationalization, as it were, of the
humanistic conscience. A person may feel consciously
guilty for not pleasing authorities, while unconsciously he
feels guilty for not living up to his own expectations of
himself. A man, for instance, who had wanted to become a
musician had instead become a businessman to satisfy his
father’s wishes. He is rather unsuccessful in business, and
his father gives vent to his disappointment at the son’s fail-

l66 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ure. The son, feeling depressed and incapable of doing ade-
quate work, eventually decides to seek the help of a psycho-
analyst. In the analytic interview he speaks first at great
length about his feelings of inadequacy and depression.
Soon he recognizes that his depression is caused by his
guilt feelings for having disappointed his father. When the
analyst questions the genuineness of this guilt feeling, the
patient is annoyed. But soon afterward he sees himself in
a dream as a very successful businessman, praised by his
father, something which had never occurred in real life; at
this point in the dream he, the dreamer, is suddenly seized
by panic and by the impulse to kill himself, and he wakes
up. He is startled by his dream and considers whether he is
not mistaken after all about the real source of his guilt feel-
ing. He then discovers that the core of his guilt feeling is
not the failure to satisfy his father, but, on the contrary, his
obedience to him and his failure to satisfy himself. His con-
scious guilt feeling is genuine enough, as far as it goes, as an
expression of his authoritarian conscience; but it covers up
the bulk of his feeling of guilt toward himself of which he
was completely unaware. The reasons for this repression are
not difficult to discern: the patterns of our culture support
this repression; according to them it makes sense to feel
guilty for disappointing one’s father, but it makes little
sense to feel guilty for neglecting one’s self. Another reason
is the fear that by becoming aware of his real guilt, he
would be forced to emancipate himself and to take his life
seriously instead of oscillating between the fear of his angry
father and the attempts to satisfy him.

Another form of the relation between an authoritarian
and humanistic conscience is that in which, although the
contents of norms are identical, the motivation for their ac-

CONSCIENCE, man’s RECALL TO HIMSELF 167

ceptance differs. The commands, for instance, not to kill,
not to hate, not to be envious, and to love one’s neighbor
are norms of authoritarian as well as of humanistic ethics.
It may be said that in the first stage of the evolution of
conscience the authority gives commands which later on
are followed not because of submission to the authority but
because of one’s responsibility to oneself. Julian Huxley has
pointed out that acquisition of an authoritarian conscience
was a stage in the process of human evolution necessary be-
fore rationality and freedom had developed to an extent
which made humanistic conscience possible; others have
stated this same idea with regard to the development of the
child. While Huxley is right in his historical analysis, I do
not believe that with regard to the child, in a nonauthori-
tarian society, the authoritarian conscience has to exist as
a precondition for the formation of humanistic conscience;
but only the future development of mankind can prove or
disprove the validity of this assumption.

If the conscience is based upon rigid and unassailable
irrational authority, tlie development of humanistic con-
science can be almost entirely suppressed. Man, then, be-
comes completely dependent on powers outside himself
and ceases to care or to feel responsible for his own exist-
ence. All that matters to him is the approval or disapproval
by these powers, which can be the state, a leader, or a no
less powerful public opinion. Even the most unethical be-
havior— in the humanistic sense— can be experienced as
“duty” in the authoritarian sense. The feeling of “ought-
ness,” common to both, is so deceptive a factor because it
can refer to the worst as well as to the best in man.

A beautiful illustration of the complex interrelation of
authoritarian and humanistic conscience is Kafka’s The

l68 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

Trial. The hero of the bQok, K, finds himself “arrested one
fine morning” for a crime of which he is ignorant and is
kept so for the remaining year he is to live. The entire novel
deals with K's attempt to plead his case before a mysterious
court whose laws and procedure he does not know. He tries
frantically to engage the help of shyster lawyers, of women
connected with the court, of anyone he can find— all to no
avail. Eventually he is sentenced to death and executed.

The novel is written in dreamlike, symbolic language; all
the events are concrete and seemingly realistic, although
they actually refer to inner experiences symbolized by ex-
ternal events. The story expresses the sense of guilt of a
man who feels accused by unknown authorities and feels
guilty for not pleasing them; yet these authorities are so be-
yond his reach that he cannot even learn of what they ac-
cuse him, or how he can defend himself. Looked at from
this angle, the novel would represent the theological view-
point most akin to Calvin’s theology. Man is condemned or
saved without understanding the reasons. All he can do is
to tremble and to throw himself upon God’s mercy. The
theological viewpoint implied in this interpretation is Cal-
vin's concept of guilt, which is representative of the ex-
treme type of authoritarian conscience. However, in one
point the authorities in The Trial differ fundamentally
from Calvin’s God. Instead of being glorious and majestic,
they are corrupt and dirty. This aspect symbolizes K’s re-
belliousness toward these authorities. He feels crushed by
them and he feels guilty, and yet he hates them and feels
their lack of any moral principle. This mixture of submission
and rebellion is characteristic of many people who alternately
submit and rebel against authorities and particularly against
the internalized authority, their conscience.

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF 169

But K's guilt feeling is simultaneously a reaction of his hu-
manistic conscience. He discovers that he has been “ar-
rested,” which means, that he has been stopped in his own
growth and development. He feels his emptiness and ste-
rility. Kafka in a few sentences masterfully describes the un-
productiveness of K’s life. This is how he lives:

That spring K had been accustomed to pass his evenings
in this way: after work, whenever possible— he was usually
in his ofl5ce until nine— he would take a short walk, alone
or with some of his colleagues, and then go to a beer hall,
where until eleven he sat at a table patronized mostly by
elderly men. But there were exceptions to this routine,
when, for instance, the Manager of the Bank, who highly
valued his diligence and reliability, invited him for a drive
or for dinner at his villa. And once a week K visited a girl
called Elsa, who was on duty all night till early morning as
a waitress in a cabaret and during the day received her
visitors in bed.^*

K feels guilty without knowing why. He runs away from
himself, concerned with finding assistance from others,
when only the understanding of the real cause of his guilt
feelings and the development of his own productiveness
could save him. He asks the inspector who arrests him all
kinds of questions about the court and his chances at the
trial. He is given the only advice which can be given in this
situation. The inspector answers: “However, if I cannot
answer your question, I can at least give you a piece of ad-
vice. Think less about us and of what is to happen to you;
think more about yourself instead.”

«F. Kafka, The Trial, tr. E. I. Muir (New York: Alfred A. Knopf,
1937) r P- * 3 -

lyo PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

On another occasion his conscience is represented by the
prison chaplain, who shows him that he himself must give
account to himself, and that no bribe and no appeal to pity
can solve his moral problem. But K can only see the priest
as another authority who could intercede for him, and all
he is concerned with is whether the priest is angry with
him or not. When he tries to appease the priest, the priest
shrieks from the pulpit, “ ‘Can’t you see anything at all?’ It
was an angry cry but at the same time sounded like the in-
voluntary shriek of one who sees another fall and is startled
out of himself.” But even this shriek does not arouse K.
He simply feels more guilty for what he thinks is the
priest’s anger with him. The priest ends the conversation
by saying: “ ‘So why should I make any claims upon you?
TTie Court makes no claims upon you. It receives you when
you come, and it relinquishes you when you go.’ ” This
sentence expresses the essence of humanistic conscience.
No power transcending man can make a moral claim upon
him. Man is responsible to himself for gaining or losing his
life. Only if he understands the voice of his conscience, can
he return to himself. If he can not, he will perish; no one
can help him but he himself. K fails to understand the
voice of his conscience, and so he has to die. At the very
moment of the execution, he has for the first time a glimpse
of his real problem. He senses his own unproductiveness, his
lack of love, and his lack of faith:

His glance fell on the top storey of the house adjoining
the quarry. With a flicker as of a light going up, the case-
ments of a window there suddenly flew open; a human
figure, faint and insubstantial at that distance and that
height, leaned abmptly far forward and stretched both arms
still farther. Who was it? A friend? A good man? Someone

CONSCIENCE, man's RECALL TO HIMSELF 171

who sympathized? Someone who wanted to help? Was it
one person only? Or were they all there? Was help at
hand? Were there some arguments in his favour that had
been overlooked? Of course, there must be. Logic is doubt-
less unshakable, but it cannot withstand a man who wants
to go on living. Where was the Judge whom he had never
seen? Where was the High Court, to which he had never
penetrated? He raised his hands and spread out all his
fingers.^®

For the first time K visualizes the solidarity of mankind,
the possibility of friendship and man’s obligation toward
himself. He raises the question of what the High Court was,
but the High Court about whom he is inquiring now is not
the irrational authority he had believed in, but the High
Court of his conscience, which is the real accuser and
which he had failed to recognize. K was only aware of his
authoritarian conscience and tried to manipulate the au-
thorities which it represents. He was so busy with this ac-
tivity of self-defense against someone transcending him
that he had completely lost sight of his real moral problem.
He consciously feels guilty because he is accused by the
authorities, but he is guilty because he has wasted his life
and could not change because he was incapable of under-
standing his guilt. The tragedy is that only when it is too
late does he have a vision of what might have been.

It needs to be emphasized that the difference between
humanistic and authoritarian conscience is not that the
latter is molded by the cultural tradition, while the former
develops independently. On the contrary, it is similar in
this respect to our capacities of speech and thought, which,
though intrinsic human potentialities, develop only in a
Ibid., pp. 287-8.

172 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

social and cultural context. The human race, in the last five
or six thousand years of its cultural development, has for-
mulated ethical norms in its religious and philosophical
systems toward which the conscience of every individual
must be orientated, if he is not to start from the begin-
ning. But because of the interests vested in each system
their representatives have tended to emphasize the differ-
ences more than the common core. Yet, from the stand-
point of man, the common elements in these teachings are
more important than their differences. If the limitations
and distortions of these teachings are understood as being
the outcome of the particular historical, socioeconomic,
and cultural situation in which they grew, we find an amaz-
ing agreement among all thinkers whose aim was the growth
and happiness of man.

3. Pleasure and Happiness

Happiness is not the reward of virtue, but is virtue itself;
nor do we delight in happiness because we restrain our
lusts; but, on the contrary, because we delight in it, there-
fore are we able to restrain them.

Spinoza, Ethic

A. PLEASURE AS A CRITERION OF VALUE

Authoritarian ethics has the advantage of simplicity; its
criteria for good or bad are the authority’s dicta and to
obey them is man’s virtue. Humanistic ethics has to cope
with the difficulty which I have already discussed before:
that in making man the sole judge of values it would seem
that pleasure or pain becomes the final arbiter of good'and

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS

173

evil. If this were the only alternative, then, indeed, the hu-
manistic principle could not be the basis for ethical norms.
For we see that some find pleasure in getting drunk, in
amassing wealth, in fame, in hurting people, while others
find pleasure in loving, in sharing things with friends, in
thinking, in painting. How can our life be guided by a
motive by which animal as well as man, the good and the
bad person, the normal and the sick are motivated alike?
Even if we qualify the pleasure principle by restricting it to
those pleasures which do not injure the legitimate interests
of others, it is hardly adequate as a guiding principle for
our actions.

But this alternative between submission to authority and
response to pleasure as guiding principles is fallacious. I
shall attempt to show that an empirical analysis of the na-
ture of pleasure, satisfaction, happiness, and joy reveals that
they arc different and partly contradictory phenomena.
This analysis points to the fact that happiness and joy al-
though, in a sense, subjective experiences, are the outcome
of interactions with, and depend on, objective conditions
and must not be confused with the merely subjective pleas-
ure experience. These objective conditions can be sum-
marized comprehensively as productiveness.

The significance of the qualitative analysis of pleasure
has been recognized since the early beginnings of human-
istic ethical thinking. The solution of the problem, how-
ever, had to remain unsatisfactory inasmuch as insight into
the unconscious dynamics of the pleasure experience was
lacking. Psychoanalytic research offers new data and sug-
gests new answers to this ancient problem of humanistic
ethics. For the better understanding of these findings and
their application to ethical theory a brief survey of some of

174 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

the most important ethical theories on pleasure and happi-
ness seems desirable.

Hedonism maintains that pleasure is the guiding prin-
ciple of human action, both factually and normatively.
Aristippus, the first representative of hedonistic theory, be-
lieved the attainment of pleasure and the avoidance of pain
to be the aim of life and the criterion of virtue. Pleasure to
him is the pleasure of the moment.

This radical— and naive— hedonistic standpoint had the
merit of an uncompromising emphasis on the individual's
significance and on a concrete concept of pleasure, making
happiness identical with immediate experience.^^ But it was
burdened with the obvious difficulty already mentioned,
which the hedonists were unable to solve satisfactorily: that
of the entirely subjectivistic character of their principle.
The first attempt to revise the hedonistic position in intro-
ducing objective criteria into the concepts of pleasure was
made by Epicurus, who, though insisting upon pleasure
being the aim of life, states that “while every pleasure is in
itself good, not all pleasures are to be chosen,” since some
pleasures cause later annoyances greater than the pleasure
itself; according to him, only the right pleasure must be
conducive to living wisely, well, and righteously. “True”
pleasure consists in serenity of mind and the absence of
fear, and is obtained only by the man who has prudence
and foresight and thus is ready to reject immediate gratifi-
cation for the sake of permanent and tranquil satisfaction^
Epicurus tries to show that his concept of pleasure as the
aim of life is consistent with the virtues of temperance,
courage, justice, and friendship. But using “feeling as the

*^Cf. H. Marcuse, "Zur Kritik des Hedonismus,” Zschft. f. Sozialfor-
schung, VII, 1938.

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS

175

canon by which we judge every good,” he did not overcome
the basic theoretical difficulty: that of combining the sub-
jective experience of pleasure with the objective criterion
of “right” and “wrong” pleasure. His attempt to harmonize
subjective and objective criteria did not go beyond the as-
sertion that the harmony existed.

Nonhedonistic humanistic philosophers coped with the
same problem, attempting to preserve the criteria of truth
and universality, yet not to lose sight of the happiness of
the individual as the ultimate goal of life.

The first to apply the criterion of truth and falsehood to
desires and pleasures was Plato. Pleasure, like thought, can
be true or false. Plato does not deny the reality of the sub-
jective sensation of pleasure, but he points out that the
pleasure sensation can be “mistaken” and that pleasure has
a cognitive function like thinking. Plato supports this view
with the theory that pleasure springs not only from an iso-
lated, sensuous part of a person but from the total personal-
ity. Hence he concludes that good men have true pleasures;
bad men, false pleasures.

Aristotle, like Plato, maintains that the subjective ex-
perience of pleasure can not be a criterion for the goodness
of the activity and, thereby, of its value. He says that “if
things are pleasant to people of vicious constitution, we
must not suppose that they are also pleasant to others than
these, just as we do not reason so about the things that are
wholesome or sweet or bitter to sick people, or ascribe
whiteness to the things that seem white to those suffering
from a disease of the eye.” Disgraceful pleasures are not
really pleasures, “except to a perverted taste,” while the
pleasures which objectively deserve this name accompany
Aristotle, Ethics, 1173% 21 ff.

176 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

those “activities which ai;e proper to man.” For Aristotle,
there are two legitimate kinds of pleasure, those which are
associated with the process of fulfilling needs and realizing
our powers; and those which are associated with the ex-
ercise of our powers when acquired. The latter is the su-
perior kind of pleasure. Pleasure is an activity (energia) of
Ae natural state of one’s being. The most satisfactory and
complete pleasure is a quality supervening on the active
use of acquired or realized powers. It implies joy and spon-
taneity, or unimpeded activity, where “unimpeded” means
“not blocked” or “frustrated.” Thus pleasure perfects ac-
tivities and hence perfects life. Pleasure and life are joined
together and do not admit of separation. The greatest and
most enduring happiness results from the highest human
activity, which is akin to the divine, that of the activity of
reason, and in so far as man has a divine element in him he
will pursue such an activity.^’ Aristotle thus arrives at a con-
cept of true pleasure which is identical with subjective
pleasure experience of the healthy and mature person.

Spinoza’s theory of pleasure is similar, in certain aspects,
to Plato’s and Aristotle’s; but he goes far beyond them. He,
too, believed that joy is a result of right or virtuous living
and not an indication of sinfulness, as the antipleasure
schools maintain. He furthered the theory by giving a more
empirical and specific definition of joy which was based
upon his whole anthropological concept. Spinoza’s concept
of joy is related to that of potency (power). “Joy is a man’s
passage from a less to a greater perfection; sorrow is a man’s
passage from a greater to a less perfection.” Greater or

♦•Aristotle, Ethics, 1176*, 15-30.

See Book VII, Chaps. 11-13, and Book X, Chaps. 4, 7, 8.

"Ethics, III, Re Affects, Def. II, III.

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS I77

lesser perfection is the same as greater or lesser power to
realize one’s potentialities and thus to approach more
closely “the model of human nature.” Pleasure is not the
aim of life but it inevitably accompanies man’s productive
activity. “Blessedness (or happiness) is not the reward of
virtue but virtue itself.” The significance of Spinoza’s view
on happiness lies in his dynamic concept of power. Goethe,
Guyau, Nietzsche, to name only some important names,
have built their ethical theories on the same thought— that
pleasure is not a primary motive of action but a companion
of productive activity.

In Spencer’s Ethics we find one of the most comprehen-
sive and systematic discussions of the pleasure principle,
which we can use as an excellent starting point for further
discussion.

The key to Spencer’s view of the pleasure-pain principle
is the concept of evolution. He proposes that pleasure and
pain have the biological function of stimulating man to act
according to what is beneficial to him individually as well
as to the human race; they are therefore indispensable fac-
tors in the evolutionary process. “Pains are the correlatives
of actions injurious to the organism, while pleasures are
correlatives of actions conducive to its welfare.” “Indi-
vidual or species is from day to day kept alive by pursuit of
the agreeable or avoidance of the disagreeable.” Pleasure,
while being a subjective experience, can not be judged in
terms of the subjective element alone; it has an objective
aspect, namely, that of man’s physical and mental welfare.
Spencer admits that in our present culture many cases of

« Ibid., Prop. XLII.

^ H. Spencer, The Principles of Ethics (New York: D. Appleton Co.,
1902), Vol. I.

•^Jbid., pp. 79, 82.

lyS PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

“perverted” pleasure or pain experience occur, and he ex-
plains this phenomenon hy the contradictions and imper-
fections of society. He claims that “with complete adjust-
ment of humanity to the social state, will go recognition of
the truths that actions are completely right only when, be-
sides being conducive to future happiness, special and
general, they are immediately pleasurable, and that painful-
ness, not ultimate but proximate, is the concomitant of ac-
tions which are wrong.” He said that those who believe
that pain has a beneficial or pleasure a detrimental effect
are guilty of a distortion which makes the exception appear
to be the rule.

Spencer parallels his theory of the biological function of
pleasure with a sociological theory. He proposes that “re-
moulding of human nature into fitness for the requirements
of social life must eventually make all needful activities
pleasurable, while it makes displeasurable activities at vari-
ance with these requirements.” And further “that the
pleasure attending on the use of means to achieve an end,
itself becomes an end.”

The concepts of Plato, Aristotle, Spinoza, and Spencer
have in common the ideas (i) that the subjective experi-
ence of pleasure is in itself not a sufficient criterion of
value; (2) that happiness is conjunctive with the good; (3)
that an objective criterion for the evaluation of pleasure can
be found. Plato refened to the “good man” as the criterion
of the right pleasure; Aristotle, to “the function of man”;
Spinoza, like Aristotle, to the realization of man’s nature by
the use of his powers; Spencer, to the biological and social
evolution of man.

The foregoing theories of pleasure and its role in ethics

wjbid., p. 99. p. 183. ^*Ibid., p. 159

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS 179

suffered from the fact that they were not constructed from
sufficiently refined data based on precise techniques of
study and observation. Psychoanalysis, in its minute study
of unconscious motivations and of the dynamics of char-
acter, laid the foundation for such refined techniques of
study and observation and thus enables us to further the
discussion of pleasure as a norm for living beyond its tradi-
tional scope.

Psychoanalysis confirms the view, held by the opponents
of hedonistic ethics, that the subjective experience of satis-
faction is in itself deceptive and not a valid criterion of
value. The psychoanalytic insight into the nature of mas-
ochistic strivings confirms the correctness of the antihedon-
istic position. All masochistic desires can be described as a
craving for that which is harmful to the total personality.
In its more obvious forms, masochism is the striving for
physical pain and the subsequent enjoyment of that pain.
As a perversion, masochism is related to sexual excitement
and satisfaction, the desire for pain being conscious. “Moral
masochism” is the striving for being harmed psychically,
humiliated, and dominated; usually this wish is not con-
scious, but it is rationalized as loyalty, love, or self-negation,
or as a response to the laws of nature, to fate, or to other
powers transcending man. Psychoanalysis shows how deeply
repressed and how well rationalized the masochistic striving
can be.

The masochistic phenomena, however, are only a par-
ticularly striking instance of unconscious desires which are
objectively harmful; all neuroses can be understood as the
result of unconscious strivings which tend to harm and to
block a person’s growth. To crave that which is harmful is
the very essence of mental sickness. Every neurosis thus

13

l8o PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

confirms the (act that pleasure can be in contradiction to
man’s real interests. ''

The pleasure arising from the satisfaction of neurotic
cravings can be, but is not necessarily, unconscious. The
masochistic perversion is an example of conscious pleasure
from a neurotic craving. The sadistic person getting satisfac-
tion from humiliating people, or the miser enjoying the
money he hoarded, may or may not be aware of the pleas-
ure he derives from the satisfaction of his craving. Whether
or not such pleasure is conscious or repressed depends on
two factors: on the strength of those forces within a person
opposing his irrational strivings; and on the degree to which
the mores of society sanction or outlaw the enjoyment of
such pleasure. Repression of pleasure can have two different
meanings; the less thorough and more frequent form of re-
pression is the one in which pleasure is felt consciously but
not in connection with the irrational .striving as such, but
rather with a rationalized expression of it. The miser, for
instance, may think he feels satisfaction because of his pru-
dent care for his family; the sadist may feel that his pleasure
is derived from his sense of moral indignation. The more
radical type of repression is that in which there is no aware-
ness of any pleasure. Many a sadistic person will deny sin-
cerely that the experience of seeing others humiliated gives
him any feeling of pleasure. Yet the analysis of his dreams
and free associations uncovers the existence of unconscious
pleasure.

Pain and unhappiness can also be unconscious and the
repression can assume the same forms just described with
regard to pleasure. A person may feel unhappy because he
does not have as much success as he desires, or because his
health is impaired, or because of any number of external

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS l8l

circumstances in his life; the fundamental reason for his
unhappiness, however, may be his lack of productiveness,
the emptiness of his life, his incapacity to love, or any num-
ber of inner defects which make him unhappy. He rational-
izes his unhappiness, as it were, and thus does not feel it in
connection with its real cause. Again, the more thorough
kind of repression of unhappiness occurs where there is no
consciousness of unhappiness at all. In this case a person
believes he is perfectly happy, while actually he is discon-
tented and unhappy.

The concept of unconscious happiness and unhappiness
meets with an important objection which says that happi-
ness and unhappiness are identical with our conscious feel-
ing of being happy or unhappy and that to be pleased or
pained without knowing it is equivalent to not being
pleased or pained. This argument has more than merely
theoretical significance. It is of utmost importance in its
social and ethical implications. If slaves are not aware of
being pained by their lot, how can the outsider object to
slavery in the name of man’s happiness? If modern man is
as happy as he pretends to be, does this not prove that we
have built the best of all possible worlds? Is the illusion of
happiness not sufficient or, rather is “illusion of happiness”
not a self-contradictory concept?

These objections ignore the fact that happiness as well as
unhappiness is more than a state of mind. In fadt, hap-
piness and unhappiness are expressions of the state of the
entire organism, of the total persopality. Happiness is con-
junctive with an increase in vitality, intensity of feeling and
thinking, and productiveness; unhappiness is conjunctive
with the decrease of these capacities and functions. Hap-
piness and unhappiness are so much a state of our total per-

i 82 problems of humanistic ethics

sonality that bodily reactions are frequently more expressive
of them than our conscious feeling. The drawn face of a
person, listlessness, tiredness, or physical symptoms like
headaches or even more serious forms of illness are frequent
expressions of unhappiness, just as a physical feeling of well-
being can be one of the “symptoms” of happiness. Indeed,
our body is less capable of being deceived about the state of
happiness than our mind, and one can entertain the idea
that some time in the future the presence and degree of
happiness and unhappiness might be inferred from an ex-
amination of the chemical processes in the body. Likewise,
the functioning of our mental and emotional capacities is
influenced by our happiness or unhappiness. The acuteness
of our reason and the intensity of our feelings depend on it.
Unhappiness weakens or even paralyzes all our psychic
functions. Happiness increases them. TTie subjective feeling
of being happy, when it is not a quality of the state of well-
being of the whole person, is nothing more than an illusory
thought about a feeling and is completely unrelated to genu-
ine happiness.

Pleasure or happiness which exists only in a person’s head
but is not a condition of his personality I propose to call
pseudo-pleasure or pseudo-happiness. A person, for in-
stance, takes a trip and is consciously happy; yet he may
have this feeling because happiness is what he is supposed
to experience on a pleasure trip; actually, he may be un-
consciously disappointed and unhappy. A dream may reveal
the truth to him; or perhaps, he will realize later that his
happiness was not genuine. Pseudo-pain can be observed in
many situations in which sorrow or unhappiness are con-
ventionally expected and therefore felt. Pseudo-pleasure and
pseudo-pain are actually only pretended feelings; they are

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS 183

thoughts about feelings, rather than genuine emotional ex-
periences.

B. TYPES OF PLEASURE

The analysis of the qualitative difference between the
various kinds of pleasure is, as already indicated, the key to
the problem of the relation between pleasure and ethical
values.*®

One type of pleasure which Freud and others thought
was the essence of all pleasure is the feeling accompanying
the relief from painful tension. Hunger, thirst, and the need
for sexual satisfaction, sleep, and bodily exercise are rooted
in the chemism of the organism. The objective, physio-
logical necessity to satisfy these demands is perceived sub-
jectively as desire, and if they remain unsatisfied for any
length of time painful tension is felt. If this tension is re-
leased, the relief is felt as pleasure or, as I propose to eall
it, satisfaction. This term, from satis-faceic = to make siifE-
eient, seems to be most appropriate for this kind of pleas-
ure. It is the very nature of all sueh physiologically condi-
tioned needs that their satisfaction ends the tension due to
the physiological changes brought about in the organism. If
we are hungry and eat, our organism— and we— have enough
at a certain point beyond which further eating would ac-
tually be painful. The satisfaction in relieving painful ten-
sion is the most common pleasure and the easiest to obtain

It does not seem to be necessary nowadays to show the fallacy of
Bentham's assumption that all pleasures are qualitatively alike and only
different in quantity. Hardly any psychologist holds this view any more^
even though the popular idea of “having fun" still implies that all
pleasures Imve the same quality.

184 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

psychologically; it can also be one of the most intense
pleasures if the tension has lasted long enough and there-
fore has become sufficiently intense itself. The significance
of this type of pleasure cannot be doubted; nor can it be
doubted that it constitutes in the lives of not a few almost
the only form of pleasure they ever experience.

A type of pleasure also caused by relief from tension, but
different in quality from the one described, is rooted in
psychic tension. A person may feel that a desire is due to
the demands of his body, while actually it is determined by
irrational psychic needs. He can have intense hunger which
is not caused by the normal, physiologically conditioned
need of his organism but by psychic needs to allay anxiety
or depression (although these may be concomitant with ab-
normal physiochemical processes). It is well known that
the need for drinking is often not due to thirst but is
psychically conditioned.

Intense sexual desire, too, can be caused not by physio-
logical but by psychic needs. An insecure person who has
an intense need to prove his worth to himself, to show
others how irresistible he is, or to dominate others by
“making” them sexually, will easily feel intense sexual de-
sires, and a painful tension if the desires are not satisfied.
He will be prone to think that the intensity of his desires is
due to the demands of his body, while actually these de-
mands are determined by his psychic needs.- Neurotic sleepi-
ness is another example of a desire which is felt to be caused
by bodily conditions like normal tiredness, although it is
actually caused by psychic conditions such as repressed
anxiety, fear, or anger.

These desires are similar to the normal, physiologically
conditioned needs inasmuch as both are rooted in a lack or

PLEASUKE AND HAPPINESS 185

in a deficiency. In the one case the deficiency is grounded in
normal chemical processes within the organism; in the
other case it is the result of psychic dysfunctioning. In both
cases the deficiency causes tensions and the relief from it
results in pleasure. All other irrational desires which do not
assume the form of bodily needs, like the passionate crav-
ing for fame, for domination, or for submission, envy, and
jealousy, are also rooted in the character structure of a per-
son and spring from a crippling or distortion within the
personality. The pleasure felt in the satisfaction of these
passions is also caused by the relief from psychic tension as
in the case of neurotically conditioned bodily desires.

Although the pleasure derived from the satisfaction of
genuine physiological needs and of irrational psychic needs
consists in the relief from tension, the quality of the pleas-
ure differs significantly. The physiologically conditioned de-
sires such as hunger, thirst, and so on, are satisfied with the
removal of the physiologically conditioned tension, and
they reappear only when the physiological need arises again;
they are thus rhythmic in nature. The irrational desires, in
contrast, are insatiable. The desire of the envious, the pos-
sessive, the sadistic person does not disappear with its satis-
faction, except perhaps momentarily. It is in the very nature
of these irrational desires that they can not be "satisfied.”
They spring from a dissatisfaction within oneself. The lack
of productiveness and the resulting powerlessness and fear
are the root of these passionate cravings and irrational de-
sires. Even if man coidd satisfy all his wishes for power and
destruction, it would not change his fear and loneliness,
and thus the tension would remain. The blessing of imagi-
nation turns into a curse; since a person does not find him-
self rdieved from his fears, he imagines ever-inc.easing

l86 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

satisfactions would cure his greed and restore his inner bal-
ance. But greed is a bottomless pit, and the idea of the re-
lief derived from its satisfaction is a mirage. Greed, indeed,
is not, as is so often assumed, rooted in man’s animal nature
but in his mind and imagination.

We have seen that the pleasures derived from the fulfill-
ment of physiological needs and neurotic desires are the re-
sult of the removal of painful tension. But while those in
the first category are really satisfying, are normal, and are a
condition for happiness, those in the latter are at best only
a temporary mitigation of need, an indication of patho-
logical functioning and of fundamental unhappiness. I pro-
pose to call the pleasure derived from the fulfillment of
irrational desires “irrational pleasure” in contradistinction
to “satisfaction,” which is the fulfillment of normal physio-
logical desires.

For the problem of ethics, the difference between irra-
tional pleasure and happiness is much more important than
that between irrational pleasure and satisfaction. In order
to understand these distinctions, it may be helpful to intro-
duce the concept of psychological scarcity versus abundance.

The unfulfilled needs of the body create tension, the
removal of which gives satisfaction. Tlie very lack is the
basis of the satisfaction. In a different sense, irrational de-
sires are also rooted in deficiencies, in a person’s insecurity
and anxiety, which compel him to hate, to envy, or to sub-
mit; the pleasure derived from the fulfillment of these crav-
ings is rooted in the fundamental lack of productiveness.
Both physiological and irrational psychic needs are part of
a system of scarcity.

But beyond the realm of scarcity rises the realm of
abundance. While even in the animal, surplus energy is

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS 1 87

present and is expressed in play,®® the realm of abundance is
essentially a human phenomenon. It is the realm of pro-
ductiveness, of inner activity. This realm can exist only to
the extent to which man does not have to work for sheer
subsistence and thus to use up most of his energy. Tlie evo-
lution of the human race is characterized by the expansion
of the realm of abundance, of the surplus energy available
for achievements beyond mere survival. All specifically
human achievements of man spring from abundance.

In all spheres of activity the difference between scarcity
and abundance and therefore between satisfaction and hap-
piness exists, even with/egard to elementary functions like
hunger and sex. To satisfy the physiological need of intense
hunger is pleasureful because it relieves tension. Different
in quality from satisfaction of hunger is the pleasure derived
from the satisfaction of appetite. Appetite is the antiei-
pation of enjoyable taste experience and, in distinction to
hunger, does not produce tension. Taste in this sense is a
produet of cultural development and refinement like musi-
cal or artistic taste and can develop only in a situation of
abundance, both in the cultural and the psychological
meaning of the word. Hunger is a phenomenon of scarcity;
its satisfaction, a necessity. Appetite is a phenomenon of
abundance; its satisfaction not a necessity but an expression
of freedom and productiveness. The pleasure accompany-
ing it may be called joy.®’

®*This problem has been analyzed in G. Bally’s excellent study, Vom
Ursprung und von den Grenzen der Freiheit (B. Schwabe Co., Basel,

1945):

Since at this point I want to make clear only the difference between
scardty-pleasure and abundance-pleasure, I hardly need to go into further
details of the hunger-appetite problem. Suffice it to say that in appetite a
genuine amount of hunger is always present. 'The physiological basis of

l88 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

With regard to sex a distinction similar to that between
hunger and appetite can be made. Freud’s concept of sex is
that of an urge springing entirely from physiologically con-
ditioned tension, relieved, like hunger, by satisfaction. But
he ignores sexual desire and pleasure corresponding to appe-
tite, which only can exist in the realm of abundance and
which is exclusively a human phenomenon. The sexually
“hungry” person is satisfied by the relief from tension,
either physiological or psychic, and this satisfaction consti-
tutes his pleasure.®® But sexual pleasure which we call joy is
rooted in abundance and freedom and is the expression of
sensual and emotional productiveness.

Joy and happiness are widely believed to be identical with
the happiness accompanying love. In fact, to many, love is
supposed to be the only source of happiness. Yet, in love as
in all other human activities, we must differentiate between
the productive and the nonproductive form. Nonproductive
or irrational love can be, as I have shown before, any kind
of masochistic or sadistic symbiosis, where the relationship
is not based upon mutual respect and integrity but where
two persons depend on each other because they are inca-
pable of depending on themselves. This love, like all other
irrational strivings, is based on scarcity, on the lack of pro-
ductiveness and inner security. Productive love, the closest
form of relatedness between two people and simultaneously
one in which the integrity of each is preserved, is a phe-
nomenon of abundance, and the ability for it is the testi-

the eating function affects us in such a way that complete absence of
hunger would also diminish appetite to a minimum. What matters, how-
ever, is the respective weight of the motivation.

“The classic saying, “Omne animal triste post coitum** (“All animals
are sad after intercourse’'), is an adequate description of sexual satisfaction
oa the levd of scarcity as far as human beings are concerned.

PLEASUBE AMD HAPPINESS 189

mony to human maturity. Joy and happiness are the con-
comitants of productive love.

In all spheres of activity the difference between scarcity
and abundance determines the quality of the pleasure ex-
perience. Every person experiences satisfactions, irrational
pleasures, and joy. What distinguishes people is the respec-
tive weight of each of these pleasures in their lives. Satisfac-
tion and irrational pleasure do not require an emotional
effort; only the ability to produce the conditions relieving
the tension. Joy is an achievement; it presupposes an inner
effort, that of productive activity.

Happiness is an achievement brought about by man’s
inner productiveness and not a gift of the gods. Happiness
and joy are not the satisfaction of a need springing from a
physiological or a psychological lack; they are not the relief
from tension but the accompaniment of all productive ac-
tivity, in thought, feeling, and action. Joy and happiness are
not different in quality; they are different only inasmuch as
joy refers to a single act while happiness may be said to be
a continuous or integrated experience of joy; we can speak
of “joys” (in the plural) but only of “happiness” (in the
singular).

Happiness is the indication that man has found the an-
swer to the problem of human existence: the productive
realization of his potentialities and thus, simultaneously,
being one with the world and preserving the integrity of his
self. In spending his energy productively he increases his
powers, he “burns without being consumed.”

Happiness is the criterion of excellence in the art of liv-
ing, of virtue in the meaning it has in humanistic ethics.
Happiness is often considered the logical opposite of grief
or pain. Physical or mental suffering is part of human ex-

190 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

istence and to experience them is unavoidable. To spare
oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price
of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experi-
ence happiness. The opposite of happiness thus is not grief
or pain but depression which results from inner sterility and
unproductiveness.

We have dealt so far with the types of pleasure experi-
ence most relevant to ethical theory: satisfaction, irrational
pleasure, joy, and happiness. It remains to consider briefly
two other less complex types of pleasure. One is the pleas-
ure which accompanies the accomplishment of any kind of
task one has set out to do. I propose to call this kind of
pleasure “gratification.” Having achieved something which
one wanted to accomplish is gratifying although the ac-
tivity is not necessarily productive; but it is a proof of one’s
power and ability to cope successfully with the outside
world. Gratification does not depend very much on a spe-
cific activity; a man may find as much gratification in a
good game of tennis as in success in business; what matters
is that there is some difficulty in the task he has set out to
accomplish and that he has achieved a satisfactory result.

The other type of pleasure which is left for discussion is
not based on effort but on its opposite, on relaxation; it
accompanies effortless but pleasant activities. The impor-
tant biological function of relaxation is that of regulating
the rhythm of the organism, which cannot be always active.
The word “pleasure,” without qualification, seems to be
most appropriate to denote the kind of good feeling that
results from relaxation.

We started out with the discussion of the problematic
character of hedonistic ethics, which claims that the aim of
life is pleasure and that therefore pleasure is good in itself.

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS

191

As a result of our analysis of the various kinds of pleasure
we are now in a position to formulate our view on the ethi-
cal relevance of pleasure. Satisfaction as relief from physio-
logically conditioned tension is neither good nor bad; as far
as ethical evaluation is concerned it is ethically neutral, as
are gratification and pleasure. Irrational pleasure and happi-
ness (joy) arc experiences of ethical significance. Irrational
pleasure is the indication of greed, of the failure to solve
the problem of human existence. Happiness (joy), on the
contrary, is proof of partial or total success in the “art of
living.” Happiness is man’s greatest achieveriient; it is the
response of his total personality to a productive orientation
toward himself and the world outside.

Hedonistic thinking failed to analyze the nature of pleas-
ure sufficiently; it thus made it appear as if that which is
easiest in life— to have some kind of pleasure— were at the
same time that which is most valuable. But nothing valu-
able is easy; thus the hedonistic enor made it easier to argue
against freedom and happiness and to maintain that the
very denial of pleasure was a proof of goodness. Humanistic
ethics may very well postulate happiness and joy as its chief
virtues, but in doing so it does not demand the easiest but
the most difficult task of man, the full development of his
productiveness.

C. THE PROBLEM OF MEANS AND ENDS

The problem of the pleasure in ends as against the pleas-
ure in means is of particular significance for contemporary
society, in which the ends have often been forgotten in an
obsessive concern with the means.

The problem of ends and means has been formulated by

192 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

Spencer very clearly. He proposed tliat pleasure connected
with an end necessarily makes the means to this end also
pleasureful. He assumes that in a state of complete adjust-
ment of humanity to the social state, “actions are com-
pletely right only when, besides being conducive to future
happiness, special or general, they are immediately pleasur-
able, or that painfulness, not only ultimate but proximate,
is the concomitant of actions which are wrong.” **

At first glance Spencer’s assumption seems plausible. If
a person plans a pleasure trip, for instance, the prepara-
tions for it may be pleasureful; but it is obvious that this is
not always true and that there are many acts preparatory to
a desired end which are not pleasureful. If a sick person has
to endure a painful treatment, the end-in-view, his health,
does not make the treatment itself pleasureful; nor do the
pains of childbirth become pleasureful. In order to achieve
a desired end we do many unpleasant things only because
our reason tells us that we have to do them. At best, it can
be said that the unpleasantness may be more or less dimin-
ished by the anticipation of the pleasure in the result; the
anticipation of the end-pleasure may even outweigh com-
pletely the discomfort connected with the means.

But the importance of the problem of means and ends
does not end here. More significant are aspects of the prob-
lem which can be understood only by considering uncon-
scious motivations.

We can make good use of an illustration for the means-
ends relationship which Spencer offers. He describes the
pleasure which a businessman derives from the fact that
when his books are balanced from time to time the result
proves correct to a penny. “If you ask,” he says, “why all

Principles of Ethics, Vol. I, p. 49.-

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS

193

this elaborate process, so remote from the actual making of
money and still more remote from the enjoyments of life,
the answer is that keeping accounts correctly is fulfilling a
condition to the end of money making, and becomes in it-
self a proximate end— a duty to be discharged— that there
may be discharged the duty of getting an income, that there
may be discharged the duty of maintaining self, wife, and
children.” In Spencer’s view, the pleasure in the means,
bookkeeping, is derived from the pleasure in the end: en-
joyment of life, or “duty.” Spencer failed to recognize two
problems. The more obvious one is that the consciously
perceived end may be something different from the one
which is perceived unconsciously. A person may think that
his aim (or his motive) is the enjoyment of life or the ful-
fillment of duty toward his family, while his real, though
unconscious, aim is the power he attains through money or
the pleasure derived from hoarding it.

The second— and more important— problem arises from
the assumption that the pleasure connected with the means
is necessarily derived from the pleasure connected with the
end. While it may happen, of course, that the pleasure in
the end, the future use of the money, makes the means to
this end (bookkeeping) also pleasureful, as Spencer as-
sumes, the pleasure in bookkeeping may be derived from
an entirely different source and its connection with the end
may be fictitious. A case in point would be an obsessional
businessman who enjoys his bookkeeping activities tre-
mendously and is greatly pleased when his accounts prove
to be correct to the penny. If we examine his pleasure we
will find that he is a person filled with anxiety and doubt;

“Ihid., p. i6i.

194 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

he enjoys bookkeeping because he is “active” without hav-
ing to make decisions or take risks. If the books balance he
is pleased because the correctness of his figures is a s)mibolic
answer to his doubts about himself and about life. Book-
keeping to him has the same function as playing solitaire
may have for another person or counting the windows of a
house to still another. The means have become independ-
ent of the aim; they have usurped the role of the end, and
the alleged aim exists only in imagination.

The most outstanding example— relative to Spencer’s il-
lustration— of a means which has made itself independent
and has become pleasureful, not because of the pleasure in
the end but because of factors completely divorced from it,
is the meaning of work as it developed in the centuries fol-
lowing the Reformation, especially under the influence of
Calvinism.

The problem under discussion touches upon one of the
sorest spots of contemporary society. One of the most out-
standing psychological features of modern life is the fact
that activities which are means to ends have more and more
usurped the position of ends, while the ends themselves
have a shadowy and unreal existence. People work in order
to make money; they make money in order to do enjoyable
things with it. The work is the means, the enjoyment, the
end. But what happens actually? People work in order to
make more money; they use this money in order to make
still more money, and the end— the enjoyment of life— is
lost sight of. People are in a hurry and invent things in
order to have more time. Then they use the time saved to
rush about again to save more time until they are so ex-
hausted that they can not use the time they saved. We have
become enmeshed in a net of means and have lost sight of

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS igj

ends. We have radios which can bring to everybody the best
in music and literature. What we hear instead is, to a large
extent, trash at the pulp magazine level or advertising
which is an insult to intelligence and taste. We have the
most wonderful instruments and means man has ever had,
but we do not stop and ask what they are for.®‘

The overemphasis on ends leads to a distortion of the
harmonious balance between means and ends in various
ways: one way is that all emphasis is on ends without suffi-
cient consideration of the role of means. The outcome of
this distortion is that the ends become abstract, unreal, and
eventually nothing but pipe dreams. This danger has been
discussed at length by Dewey. The isolation of ends can
have the opposite effect: while the end is ideologically re-
tained it serves merely as a cover for shifting all the empha-
sis to those activities which are allegedly means to this end.
The motto for this mechanism is “The ends justify the
means.” The defenders of this principle fail to see that the
use of destructive means has its own ' consequences which
actually transform the end even if it is still retained ideo-
logically.

Spencer’s concept of the social function of pleasurable
activities has an important sociological bearing on the means-
ends problem. In connection with his view that the pleas-
ure experience has the biological function of making ac-
tivities which are conducive to human welfare pleasant, and
thereby attractive, he states that “remoulding of human na-
ture into fitness for the requirement of social life, must
eventually make all needful activities pleasurable, while it
makes displeasurable all activities at variance with these re-

®^A. de Saint-Exup6ry, in his Little Prince, has riven an excellent de-
scription of this very pattern. (New York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1943.)

14

196 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

quirements.” He continues that “supposing it consistent
with the maintenance of 'life, there is no kind of activity
which will not become a source of pleasure, if continued,
and that therefore pleasure will eventually accompany every
move or action demanded by social conditions.” “

Spencer touches here upon one of the most significant
mechanisms of society: that any given society tends to form
the character-structure of its members in such a way as
to make them desire to do what they have to do in order to
fulfill their social function. But he fails to see that, in a so-
ciety detrimental to the real human interest of its members,
activities which are harmful to man but useful to the func-
tioning of that particular society can also become sources
of satisfaction. Even slaves have learned to be satisfied with
their lot; oppressors, to enjoy cruelty. The cohesion of every
society rests upon tiie very fact that there is almost no activ-
ity which can not be made pleasureful, a fact which suggests
that the phenomenon that Spencer describes can be a source
of blocking as well as of furthering social progress. What mat-
ters is the understanding of the meaning and function of
any particular activity and of the satisfaction derived from
it in terms of the nature of man and of the proper condi-
tions for his life. As has been pointed out above, the satis-
faction derived from irrational strivings differs in kind from
the pleasure derived from activities conducive to human
welfare, and such satisfaction is not a criterion of value.
Just because Spencer is right in proposing that every socially
useful activity can become a source of pleasure, he is wrong
in assuming that therefore the pleasure connected with
such activities proves their moral value. Only by analyzing

Principles of Ethics, Vol. I, p. 1 38.

FAITH AS A CHAKACTER TRAIT

197

the nature of man and by uncovering the very contradic-
tions between his real interests and those imposed upon
him by a given society, can one arrive at the objectively
valid norms which Spencer strove to discover. His optimism
with regard to his own society and its future, and his lack of
a psychology which dealt with the phenomenon of irra-
tional cravings and their satisfaction, caused him unwit-
tingly to pave the way for the relativism in ethics which
today has become so popular.

4. Faith as a Character Trait

Belief consists in accepting the affirmations
of the soul; unbelief in denying them.

—Emerson

Faith is not one of the concepts that fits into the intel-
lectual climate of the present-day world. One usually asso-
ciates faith with God and with religious doctrines, in con-
tradistinction to rational and scientific thinking. The latter
is assumed to refer to the realm of facts, distinguished from
a realm transcending facts where scientific thinking has no
place, and only faith rules. To many, this division is un-
tenable. If faith can not be reconciled with rational think-
ing, it has to be eliminated as an anachronistic remnant of
earlier stages of culture and replaced by science dealing
with facts and theories which are intelligible and can be
validated.

The modem attitude toward faith was reached after a
long drawn-out struggle against the authority of the church
and its claim to control any kind of thinking. Thus skepti-
cism with regard to faith is bound up with the very advance

198 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

of reason. This constructive side of modern skepticism,
however, has a reverse sidfe which has been neglected.

Insight into the character structure of modern man and
the contemporary social scene leads to the realization that
the current widespread lack of faith no longer has the pro-
gressive aspect it had generations ago. Then the fight against
faith was a fight for emancipation from spiritual shackles;
it was a fight against irrational belief, the expression of faith
in man’s reason and his ability to establish a social order
governed by the principles of freedom, equality, and broth-
erliness. Today the lack of faith is the expression of pro-
found confusion and despair. Once skepticism and rational-
ism were progressive forces for the development of thought;
now they have become rationalizations for relativism and
uncertainty. The belief that the gathering of more and
more facts will inevitably result in knowing the truth has
become a superstition. Truth itself is looked upon, in cer-
tain quarters, as a metaphysical concept, and science as re-
stricted to the task of gathering information. Behind a front
of alleged rational certainty, there is a profound uncertainty
which makes people ready to accept or to compromise with
any philosophy impressed upon them.

Can man live without faith? Must not the nursling have
“faith in his mother’s breast”? Must we all not have faith
in our fellow men, in those whom we love and in ourselves?
Can we live without faith in the validity of norms for our
life? Indeed, without faith man becomes sterile, hopeless,
and afraid to the very core of his being.

Was, then, the fight against faith idle, and were the
achievements of reason ineffectual? Must we return to re-
ligion or resign ourselves to live without faith? Is faith nec-
essarily a matter of belief in God or in religious doctrines?

FAITH AS A CHARACTER TRAIT IQQ

Is it linked so closely with religion as to have to share its des-
tiny? Is faith by necessity in contrast to, or divorced from,
rational thinking? I shall attempt to show that these ques-
tions can be answered by considering faith to be a basic
attitude of a person, a character trait which pervades all his
experiences, which enables a man to face reality without
illusions and yet to live by his faith. It is difficult to think
of faith not primarily as faith in something, but of faith as
an inner attitude the specific object of which is of second-
ary importance. It may be helpful to remember that the
term “faith” as it is used in the Old Testament— “Emunah”
—means “firmness” and thereby denotes a certain quality
of human experience, a character trait, rather than the con-
tent of a belief in something.

For the understanding of this problem it may be helpful
to approach it by first discussing the problem of doubt.
Doubt, too, is usually understood as doubt or perplexity
concerning this or that assumption, idea, or person, but it
can also be described as an attitude which permeates one’s
personality, so that the particular object on which one
fastens one’s doubt is of but secondary importance. In
order to understand the phenomenon of doubt, one must
differentiate between rational and irrational doubt. I shall
presently make this same discrimination with regard to the
phenomenon of faith.

Irrational doubt is not the intellectual reaction to an im-
proper or plainly mistaken assumption, but rather the doubt
which colors a person’s life emotionally and intellectually.
To him, there is no experience in any sphere of life which
has the quality of certainty; everything is doubtful, nothing
is certain.

The most extreme form of irrational doubt is the neu-

200 PROBLEMS OF HVMANISPC ETHICS

rotic compulsion to doubt The person beset by it is com-
pulsively driven to doubt dverydiing he thinks about or to
be perplexed by everything he does. The doubt often refers
to the most important questions and decisions in life. It
often intrudes upon trifling decisions, such as which suit to
wear or whether or not to go to a party. Regardless of the
objects of the doubt, whether they are trifling or important,
inational doubt is agonizing and exhausting.

The psychoanalytic inquiry into the mechanism of com-
pulsive doubts shows that they are the rationalized expres-
sion of unconscious emotional conflicts, resulting from a
lack of integration of the total personality and from an in-
tense feeling of powerlessness and helplessness. Only by
recognizing the roots of the doubt can one overcome the
paralysis of will which springs from the inner experience of
powerlessness. When such insight has not been attained,
substitute solutions are found which, while unsatisfactory,
at least do away with the tormenting manifest doubts. One
of these substitutes is compulsive activity in which the per-
son is able to find temporary relief. Another is the accept-
ance of some “faith” in which a person, as it were, sub-
merges himself and his doubts.

The typical form of contemporary doubt, however, is not
the active one described above but rather an attitude of
indifference in which everything is possible, nothing is cer-
tain. An increasing number of people are feeling confused
about e\-erything, work, politics, and morals and, what is
worse, they believe this very confusion to be a normal state
of mind. They feel isolated, bewildered, and powerless; they
do not experience life in terms of their own thoughts, emo-
tions, and sense perceptions, but in terms of the experi-
ences they are supposed to have. Although in these automa-

FAITH AS A CHARACTER TRAIT 201

tized persons active doubt has disappeared, indifference and
relativism have taken its place.

In contrast to irrational doubt, rational doubt questions
assumptions the vahdity of which depends on belief in an
authority and not on one’s own experience. This doubt has
an important function in personality development. The child
at first accepts all ideas on the unquestioned authority of
his parents. In the process of emancipating himself from
their authority, in developing his own self, he becomes
critical. In the process of growing up, the child starts to
doubt the legends he previously accepted without question,
and the increase of his aitical capacities is directly propor-
tionate to his becoming independent of parental authority
and to his becoming an adult.

Historically, rational doubt is one of the mainsprings of
modern thought, and through it modem philosophy, as
well as science, received their most fruitful impulses. Here
too, as in personal development, the rise of rational doubt
was linked with the growing emancipation from authority,
that of the church and the state.

In regard to faith, I wish to make the same differenti-
ation which was made with regard to doubt: that between
inational and rational faith. By irrational faith I understand
the belief in a person, idea, or symbol which does not result
from one’s own experience of thought or feeling, but which
is based on one’s emotional submission to irrational
authority.

Before we go on, the connection between submission and
intellectual and emotional processes must be explored fur-
ther. There is ample evidence that a person who has given
op his inner independence and submitted to an authority
tends to substitute the authority’s experience for his own.

202 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

The most impressive illustration is to be found in the hyp-
notic situation where a person surrenders to the authority
of another and, in the state of hypnotic sleep, is ready to
think and feel what the hypnotist “makes him" think and
feel. Even after he has awakened from the hypnotic sleep
he will follow suggestions given by the hypnotist, though
thinking that he is following his own judgment and initi-
ative. If the hypnotist, for instance, has given the sugges-
tion that at a certain hour the subject will feel cold and
should put on his coat, he will in the posthypnotic situation
have the suggested feeling and will act accordingly, being
convinced that his feelings and acts are based on reality and
initiated by his own conviction and will.

While the hypnotic situation is the most conclusive ex-
periment in demonstrating the interrelation between sub-
mission to an authority and thought processes, there are
many relatively commonplace situations revealing the same
mechanism. T^e reaction of people to a leader equipped
with a strong power of suggestion is an example of a semi-
hypnotic situation. Here too the unqualified acceptance of
his ideas is not rooted in the listeners' conviction based
upon their own thinking or their critical appraisal of the
ideas presented to them, but instead in their emotional sub-
mission to the speaker. People in this situation have the
illusion that they agree, that they rationally approve of the
ideas the speaker suggested. They feel that they accept him
because they agree with his ideas. In reality the sequence is
the opposite: they accept his ideas because they have sub-
mitted to his authority in a semihypnotic fashion. Hitler
gave a good description of this process in his discussion of
the advisability of holding propaganda meetings at night.
He said that the "superior oratorical talent of a domineer-

FAITH AS A CHARACTER TRAIT 2O3

ing apostolic nature will now [in the evening] succeed more
easily in winning for the new will people who themselves
have in turn experienced a weakening of their force of re-
sistance in the most natural way than people who still have
full command of their energies and their will power.”

For irrational faith, the sentence “Credo quia absurdum
est” “I believe because it is absurd”— has full psycho-
logical validity. If somebody makes a statement which is
rationally sound, he does what, in principle, everyone else
can do. If, however, he dares to make a statement which
is rationally absurd, he shows by this very fact that he
has transcended the faculty of common sense and thus has
a magic power which puts him above the average person.

Among the abundance of historical examples of irrational
faith it would seem that the Biblical report of the liberation
of the Jews from the Egyptian yoke is one of the most re-
markable comments on the problem of faith. In the whole
report, the Jews are described as people who, though suffer-
ing from their enslavement, are afraid to rebel and unwill-
ing to lose the security they have as slaves. They understand
only the language of power, which they are afraid of but
submit to; Moses, objecting to God’s command that he an-
nounce himself as God’s representative, says that the Jews
will not believe in a god whose name they do not even
know. God, although not wanting to assume a name, does
so in order to satisfy the Jews’ quest for certainty. Moses in-
sists that even a name is not sufficient surety to make the
Jews have faith in God. So God makes a further concession.
He teaches Moses to perform miracles “in order that they
Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf (New York: Reynal & Hitchcock, Inc.,
'939); P- 7'°-

•*A popular, although somewhat distorted version of a sentence by
Tertullian.

204 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

may have faith that God appeared to you, the God of their
lathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” The pro-
found irony of this sentence is unmistakable. If the Jews
had the kind of faith which God wished them to have, it
would have been rooted in their own experience or the
history of their nation; but they had become slaves, their
faith was that of slaves and rooted in submission to power
which proves its strength by its magic; they could be im-
pressed only by another magic, not different from but only
stronger than the one the Egyptians used.

The most drastic contemporary phenomenon of irrational
faith is the faith in dictatorial leaders. Its defenders attempt
to prove the genuineness of this faith by pointing to the
fact that millions are ready to die for it. If faith is to be
dehned in terms of blind allegiance to a person or cause
and measured by the readiness to give one’s life for it, then
indeed the faith of the Prophets in justice and love, and
their opponents’ faith in power is basically the same phe-
nomenon, different only in its object. Then the faith of the
defenders of freedom and that of their oppressors is only
different inasmuch as it is a faith in different ideas.

Irrational faith is a fanatic conviction in somebody or
something, rooted in submission to a personal or imper-
sonal irrational authority. Rational faith, in contrast, is a
firm conviction based on productive intellectual and emo-
tional activity. In rational thinking, in which faith is sup-
posed to have no place, rational faith is an important com-
ponent. How does the scientist, for instance, arrive at a new
discovery? Does he start with making experiment after ex-
periment, gathering fact after fact without having a vision
of what he expects to find? Rarely has any important dis-
covery in any field been made in this way. Nor have people

FAITH AS A CHARACTER TRAIT 20^

arrived at important conclusions when they were merely
chasing a phantasy. The process of creative thinking in any
field of human endeavor often starts with what may be
called a “rational vision,” itself a result of considerable pre-
vious study, reflective thinking, and observation. When the
scientist succeeds in gathering enough data or in working
out a mathematical formulation, or Iwth, to make his origi-
nal vision highly plausible he may be said to have arrived at
a tentative hypothesis, A careful analysis of the hypothesis
in order to discern its implications and the amassing of
data which support it, lead to a more adequate hypothesis
and eventually perhaps to its inclusion in a wide-ranging
theory.

The history of science is replete with instances of faith in
reason and vision of truth. Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo,
and Newton were all imbued with an unshakable faith in
reason. For this Bruno was burned at the stake and Spinoza
suffered excommunieation. At every step from the concep-
tion of a rational vision to the formulation of a theory, faith
is necessary: faith in the vision as a rationally valid aim to
pursue, faith in the hypothesis as a likely and plausible
proposition, and faith in the final theory, at least until a
general consensus about its validity has been reached. This
faith is rooted in one’s own experience, in the confidence in
one’s power of thought, observation, and judgment. While
irrational faith is the acceptance of something as true only
because an authority or the majority say so, rational faith is
rooted in an independent conviction based upon one’s own
productive observing and thinking.

Thought and judgment are not the only realm of experi-
ence in which rational faith is manifested. In the sphere of
human relations, faith is an indispensable quality of any

2o6 problems of humanistic ethics

significant friendship or love. “Having faith” in another
person means to be certaih of the reliability and unchange-
ability of his fundamental attitudes, of the core of his per-
sonality. By this I do not mean that a person may not
change his opinions but that his basic motivations remain
the same; that, for instance, his capacity or respect for
human dig^'ity is part of his self, not subject to change.

In the same sense we have faith in ourselves. We are
aware of the existence of a self, of a core in our personality
which is unchangeable and which persists throughout our
life in spite of varying circumstances and regardless of cer-
tain changes in opinions and feelings. It is this core which
is the reality behind the word “I” and on which our convic-
tion of our own identity is based. Unless we have faith in
the persistence of our self, our feeling of identity is threat-
ened and we become dependent on other people whose ap-
proval then becomes the basis for our feeling of identity
with ourselves. Only the person who has faith in himself is
able to be faithful to others because only he can be sure
that he will be the same at a future time as he is today and,
therefore, to feel and to act as he now expects to. Faith in
oneself is a condition of our ability to promise something,
and since, as Nietzsche pointed out, man can be defined by
his capacity to promise, that is one of the conditions of
human existence.

Another meaning of having faith in a person refers to the
faith we have in the potentialities of others, of ourselves,
and of mankind. The most rudimentary form in which this
faith exists is the faith which the mother has toward her
newborn baby: that it will live, grow, walk, and talk. How
ever, the development of the child in this respect occurs
with such regularity that the expectation of it does not

FAITH AS A CHARACTER TRAIT 207

seem to require faith. It is different with those potentialities
which can fail to develop: the child’s potentialities to love,
to be happy, to use his reason, and more specific potenti-
alities like artistic gifts. They are the seeds which grow and
become manifest if the proper conditions for their develop-
ment are given, and they can be stifled if they are absent.
One of the most important of these conditions is that the
significant persons in a child’s life have faith in these po-
tentialities. The presence of this faith makes the difference
between education and manipulation. Education is iden-
tical with helping the child realize his potentialities.*® The
opposite of education is manipulation, which is based on
the absence of faith in the growth of potentialities and on
the conviction that a child will be right only if the adults
put into him what is desirable and cut off what seems to be
undesirable. There is no need of faith in the robot since
there is no life in it either.

The faith in others has its culmination in faith in man-
kind. In the Western world this faith was expressed in re-
ligious terms in the Judaeo-Christian religion, and in secu-
lar language it has found its strongest expression in the
progressive political and social ideas of the last 150 years.
Like the faith in the child, it is based on the idea that the
potentialities of man are such that given the proper condi-
tions they will be capable of building a social order gov-
erned by the principles of equality, justice, and love. Man
has not yet achieved the building of such an order, and
therefore the conviction that he can requires faith. But like
all rational faith this, too, is not wishful thinking but based

The root of the word education is e-ducerc, literally, to lead forth, or
to bring out something which is potentially present. Education in this sense
results in existence, which means literally to stand out, to have emerged
from the state of potentiality into that of manifest reality.

2o8 problems of humanistic ethics

upon the evidence of the past achievements of tiie human
race and on the inner experience of »ch individual, on his
own experience of reason and love.

While irrational faith is rooted in the submission to a
power which is felt to be overwhelmingly strong, omnis-
cient, and omnipotent, in the abdication of one’s own
power and strength, rational faith is based upon the oppo-
site experience. We have this faith in a thought because it
is a result of our own observation and thinking. We have
faith in the potentialities of others, of ourselves, and of
mankind because, and only to the degree to which, we have
experienced the growth of our own potentialities, the reality
of growth in ourselves, the strength of our own power of
reason and of love. The basis of rational faith is produc-
tiveness; to live by our faith means to live productively and
to have the only certainty which exists: the certainty grow-
ing from productive activity and from the experience that
each one of us is the active subject of whom these activities
are predicated. It follows that the belief in power (in the
sense of domination) and the use of power are the reverse
of faith. To believe in power that exists is identical with dis-
belief in the growth of potentialities which are as yet un-
realized. It is a prediction of the future based solely on the
manifest present; but it turns out to be a grave miscalcu-
lation, profoundly irrational in its oversight of human po-
tentialities and human growth. There is no rational foith in
power. There is submission to it or, on the part of those
who have it, the wish to keep it. While to many power
seems to be the most real of all things, the history of man
has proved it to be the most unstable of aU human achieve-
ments. Because of the fact tiiat faith and power are mu-
tually exclusive, all religions and political systems whidi

FAITH AS A CHARACTER TRAIT 209

originally are built on rational faith become corrupt and
eventually lose what strength they have if they rely on power
or even ally themselves with it.

One misconception concerning faith must be briefly men-
tioned here. It is often assumed that faith is a state in
which one passively waits for the realization of one’s hope.
While this is characteristic of irrational faith, it follows
from our discussion that it is never true for rational faith.
Inasmuch as rational faith is rooted in the experience of
one’s own productiveness, it cannot be passive but must be
the expression of genuine inner activity. An old Jewish leg-
end expresses this thought vividly. When Moses threw the
wand into the Red Sea, the sea, quite contrary to the ex-
pected miracle, did not divide itself to leave a dry passage
for the Jews. Not until the first man had jumped into the
sea did the promised miracle happen and the waves recede.

At the outset of this discussion I differentiated between
faith as an attitude, as a character trait, and faith as the be-
lief in certain ideas or people. So far we have only dealt
with faith in the former sense, and the question poses itself
now whether there is any connection between faith as a
character trait and the objects in which one has faith. It
follows from our analysis of rational as against irrational
faith that such a connection exists. Since rational faith is
based upon our own productive experience, nothing can be
its object which transcends human experience. Further-
more it follows that we cannot speak of rational faith when
a person believes in the ideas of love, reason, and justice
not as a result of his own experience but only because he
has been taught such belief. Religious faith can be of either
kind. Mainly some sects that did not share in the power of
the church and some mystical currents in religion that em-

210 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

phasized man’s own power to love, his likeness to God, have
preserved and cultivated the attitude of rational faith in re-
ligious symbolism. What holds true of religions holds true
for faith in its secular form, particularly in political and
social ideas. The ideas of freedom or democracy deteriorate
into nothing but irrational faith once they are not based
upon the productive experience of each individual but arc
presented to him by parties or states which force him to
believe in these ideas. There is much less difference between
a mystic faith in God and an atheist’s rational faith in man-
kind than between the former’s faith and that of a Calvinist
whose faith in God is rooted in the conviction of his own
powerlessness and in his fear of God’s power.

Man cannot live without faith. The crucial question for
our own generation and the next ones is whether this faith
will be an irrational faith in leaders, machines, sufccess, or
the rational faith in man based on the experience of our
own productive activity.

5. The Moral Powers in Man

Wonders are many, and none is more wonderful than Man.

—Sophocles, Antigone

A. MAN, GOOD OR EVIL?

The position taken by humanistic ethics that man is able
to know what is good and to act accordingly on the strength
of his natural potentialities and of his reason would be un-
tenable if the dogma of man’s innate natural evilness were
true. The opponents of humanistic ethics claim that man’s

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 211

nature is such as to make him inclined to be hostile to his
fellow men, to be envious and jealous, and to be lazy, unless
he is curbed by fear. Many representatives of humanistic
ethics met this challenge by insisting that man is inherently
good and that destructiveness is not an integral part of his
nature.

Indeed, the controversy between these two conflicting
views is one of the basic themes in Western thought. To
Socrates, ignorance, and not man’s natural disposition, vras
the source of evilness; to him vice was error. The Old Testa-
ment, on the contrary, tells us that man’s history starts with
an act of sin, and that his “strivings are evil from childhood
on.” In the early Middle Ages the battle between the two
opposing views was centered around the question of how to
interpret the Biblical myth of Adam’s fall. Augustine
thought that man’s nature was corrupt since the fall, that
each generation was born with the curse caused by the first
man’s disobedience, and that only God’s grace, transmitted
by the Church and her sacraments, could save man. Pelagius,
Augustine’s great adversary, held that Adam’s sin was purely
personal and had affected none but himself; that every man,
consequently, is born with powers as incorrupt as Adam’s
before the fall, and that sin is the result of temptation and
evil example. The battle was won by Augustine, and this
victory was to determine— and to darken— man’s mind for
centuries.

The late Middle Ages witnessed an increasing belief in
man’s dignity, power, and natural goodness. 'The thinkers
of the Renaissance as well as theologians like Thomas
Aquinas of the thirteenth century gave expression to this
belief, although their views on man differed in many essen-
tial points and although Aquinas never reverted to the radi-

os

212 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

calism of the Pelagian “heresy.” The antithesis, the idea of
man's intrinsic evilness, >vas expressed in Luther’s and Cal-
vin’s doctrines, thus reviving the Augustinian position.
While insisting on man’s spiritual freedom and on his right
—and obligation— to face God directly and without the
priest as an intermediary, they denounced man’s intrinsic
evilness and powerlessness. According to them the greatest
obstacle to man’s salvation is his pride; and he can over-
come it only by guilt feelings, repentance, unqualified sub-
mission to God, and faith in God’s mercy.

'These two threads remain interwoven in the texture of
modem thought. The idea of man’s dignity and power was
pronounced by the enlightenment philosophy, by progres-
sive, liberal thought of the nineteenth century, and most
radically by Nietzsche. The idea of man’s worthlessness and
nothingness found a new, and this time entirely secularized,
expression in the authoritarian systems in which the state
or “society” became the supreme rulers, while the indi-
vidual, recognizing his own insignificance, is supposed to
find his fulfillment in obedience and submission. The two
ideas, while clearly separated in the philosophies of democ-
racy and authoritarianism, are blended in their less extreme
forms in the thinking, and still more so in the feeling, of
our culture. Today, we are adherents both of Augustine and
Pelagius, of Luther and Pico della Mirandola, of Hobbes
and Jefferson. We consciously believe in man’s power and
dignity, but— often unconsciously— we also believe in man’s
—and particularly our own— powerlessness and badness and
explain it by pointing to “human nature.” ”

R. Niebuhr, the exponent of contemporary neo-orthodox theology, has
made the Lutheran position explicit again, combining it, paradoxically, with
a progressive political philosophy.

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 21 3

In Freud’s writings the two opposing ideas have found
expression in terms of psychological theory. Freud was in
many respects a typical representative of the Enlighten-
ment spirit, believing in reason and in man’s right to pro-
tect his natural claims against social conventions and cul-
tural pressure. At the same time, however, he held the view
that man was lazy and self-indulgent by nature and had to
be forced into the path of socially useful activity.®* The
most radical expression of the view of man’s innate de-
stmctiveness is to be found in Freud’s theory of the “death-
instinct.” After the first World War he was so impressed
by the power of destructive passion that he revised his older
theory, according to which there were two types of in-
stincts, sex and self-preservation, by giving a dominant place
to irrational destructiveness. He assumed that man was the
battlefield on which two equally powerful forces meet: the
drive to live and the drive to die. These, he thought, were
biological forces to be found in all organisms, including
man. If the drive to die was turned to outside objects, it
manifested itself as a drive to destroy; if it remained within
the organism, it aimed at self-destmction.

Freud’s theory is dualistic. He does not see man as either
essentially good or essentially evil, but as being driven by
two equally strong contradictory forces. The same dualistic
view had been expressed in many religious and philosophi-
cal systems. Life and death, love and strife, day and night,
white and black, Ormuzd and Ahriman are only some of
the many symbolic formulations of this polarity. Such dual-
istic theory is indeed very appealing to the student of human
nature. It leaves room for the idea of the goodness of man.

**The two opposing sides of Freud’s attitude are to be found in his
The Future of an Illusion.

214 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

but it also accounts for man’s tremendous capacity for de-
structiveness which only "Superficial, wishful thinking can
ignore. The dualistic position, however, is only the starting
point and not the answer to our psychological and ethical
problem. Are we to understand this dualism to mean that
both the drive to live and the drive to destroy are innate
and equally strong capacities in man? In this case human-
istic ethics would be confronted with the problem of how
the destructive side in man’s nature can be curbed without
sanctions and authoritarian commands.

Or can we arrive at an answer more congenial to the
principle of humanistic ethics and can the polarity between
the striving for life and the striving for destruction be
understood in a different sense? Our ability to answer these
questions depends on the insight we have into the nature
of hostility and destructiveness. But before entering into
this discussion we would do well to be aware of how much
depends on the answer for the problem of ethics.

The choice between life and death is indeed the basic
alternative of ethics. It is the alternative between produc-
tiveness and destructiveness, between potency and impo-
tence, between virtue and vice. For humanistic ethics all evil
strivings are directed against life and all good serves the
preservation and unfolding of life.

Our first step in approaching the problem of destructive-
ness is to differentiate between two kinds of hate: rational,
“reactive” and inational, “character-conditioned” hate. Re-
active, rational hate is a person’s reaction to a threat to his
own or another person’s freedom, life, or ideas. Its premise
is respect for life. Rational hate has an important biological
function: it is the affective equivalent of action serving the
protection of life; it comes into existence as a reaction to

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 215

vital threats, and it ceases to exist when the threat has been
removed; it is not the opposite but the concomitant of the
striving for life.

Character-conditioned hate is different in quality. It is a
character trait, a continuous readiness to hate, lingering
within the person who is hostile rather than reacting with
hate to a stimulus from without. Irrational hate can be ac-
tualized by the same kind of realistic threat which arouses
reactive hate; but often it is a gratuitous hate, using every
opportunity to be expressed, rationalized as reactive hate.
TTie hating person seems to have a feeling of relief, as
though he were happy to have found the opportunity to
express his lingering hostility. One can almost see in his
face the pleasure he derives from the satisfaction of his
hatred.

Ethics is concerned primarily with the problem of irra-
tional hate, the passion to destroy or cripple life. Irrational
hate is rooted in a person’s character, its object being of sec-
ondary importance. It is directed against others as well as
against oneself, although we arc more often aware of hating
others than of hating ourselves. The hate against ourselves
is usually rationalized as sacrifice, selflessness, asceticism, or
as self-accusation and inferiority feeling.

The frequency of reactive hate is even greater than it may
appear, because often a person reacts with hate toward
threats against his integrity and freedom, threats which are
not obvious and explicit but subtle or even disguised as love
and protection. But even so, character hate remains a phe-
nomenon of such magnitude that the dualistic theory of
love and hate as the two fundamental forces seems to fit
the facts. I have to concede, then, the correctness of the
dualistic theory? In order to answer this question we need

2i6 problems of humanistic ethics

to inquire further into the nature of this dualism. Are the
good and evil forces of equal strength? Are they both part
of the original equipment of man, or what other possible
relation could exist between them?

According to Freud destructiveness is inherent in all hu-
man beings; it differs mainly with regard to the object of
destructiveness— others or themselves. From this position it
would follow that destructiveness against oneself is in re-
verse proportion to that against others. This assumption,
however, is contradicted by the fact that people differ in the
degree of their total destructiveness, regardless of whether
it is primarily directed against themselves or against others.
We do not find great destructiveness against others in those
who have little hostility against themselves; on the contrary
we see that hostility against oneself and others is conjunc-
tive. We find furthermore that the life-destractive forces in
a person occur in an inverse ratio to the life-furthering ones;
the stronger the one, the weaker the other, and vice versa.
This fact offers a clue to the understanding of the life-
destmctive energy; it would seem that the degree of destruc-
tiveness is proportionate to the degree to which the unfold-
ing of a person’s capacities is blocked. I am not referring
here to occasional frustrations of this or that desire but to
the blockage of spontaneous expression of man’s sensory,
emotional, physical, and intellectual capacities, to the thwart-
ing of his productive potentialities. If life’s tendency to
grow, to be lived, is thwarted, the energy thus blocked un-
dergoes a process of change and is transformed into life-
destructive energy. Destructiveness is the outcome of un-
lived life. Those individual and social conditions which make
for the blocking of life-furthering energy produce destruc-

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 217

tiveness which in turn is the source from which the various
manifestations of evil spring.

If it is true that destructiveness must develop as a result
of blocked productive energy it would seem that it can
rightly be called a potentiality in man's nature. Does it fol-
low then that both good and evil are potentialities of equal
strength in man? In order to answer this question we must
inquire into the meaning of potentiality. 'To say that some-
thing exists “potentially” means not only that it will exist
in the future but that this future existence is already pre-
pared in the present. This relationship between the present
and the future stage of development can be described by
saying that the future virtually exists in the present. Does
this mean that the future stage will necessarily come into
being if the present stage exists? Obviously not. If we say
that the tree is potentially present in the seed it does not
mean that a tree must develop from every seed. The ac-
tualization of a potentiality depends on the presence of cer-
tain conditions which are, in the case of the seed, for
instance, proper soil, water, and sunlight. In fact, the con-
cept of potentiality has no meaning except in connection
with the specific conditions required for its actualization.
The statement that the tree is potentially present in the
seed must be specified to mean that a tree will grow from
the seed provided that the seed is placed in the specific con-
ditions necessary for its growth. If these proper conditions
are absent, if, for instance, the soil is too moist and thus
incompatible with the seed's growth, the latter will not de-
velop into a tree but rot. If an animal is deprived of food, it
will not realize its potentiality for growth but will die. It
may be said, then, that the seed or the animal has two kinds

21 8 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

of potentialities, from each of which certain results follow
in a later stage of developri’ient: one, a primary potentiality
which is actualized if the proper conditions are present; the
other, a secondary potentiality, which is actualized if con-
ditions are in contrast to existential needs. Both the pri-
mary and the secondary potentialities are part of the nature
of an organism. The secondary potentialities become mani-
fest with the same necessity as does the primary potenti-
ality. The terms “primary” and “secondary” are used in
order to denote that the development of the potentiality
called “primary” occurs under normal conditions and that the
“secondary” potentiality comes into manifest existence only
in case of abnormal, pathogenic conditions.

Provided we are right in assuming that destructiveness is
a secondary potentiality in man which becomes manifest
only if he fails to realize his primary potentialities, we have
answered only one of the objections to humanistic ethics.
We have shown that man is not necessarily evil but be-
comes evil only if the proper conditions for his growth and
development are lacking. The evil has no independent ex-
istence of its own, it is the absen<^ of the good, the result
of the failure to realize life.

We have to deal with still another objection to human-
istic ethics which says that the proper conditions for the
development of the good must comprise rewards and pun-
ishment because man has not within himself any incentive
for the development of his powers. I shall attempt to show
in the following pages that the normal individual possesses
in himself the tendency to develop, to grow, and to be pro-
ductive, and that the paralysis of this tendency is ip itself
the symptom of mental sickness. Mental health, like physi-
cal health, is not an aim to which the individual must be

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 219

forced from the outside but one the incentive for which is
in the individual and the suppression of which requires
strong environmental forces operating against him.**'

The assumption that man has an inherent drive for
growth and integration does not imply an abstract drive for
perfection as a particular gift with which man is endowed.
It follows from the very nature of man, from the principle
that the power to act creates a need to use this power and
that the failure to use it results in dysfunction and unhap-
piness. The validity of this principle can be easily recog-
nized with regard to the physiological functions of man.
Man htis the power to walk and to move; if he were pre-
vented from using this power severe physical discomfort or
illness would result. Women have the power to bear chil-
dren and to nurse them; if this power remains unused, if
a woman does not become a mother, if she can not spend
her power to bear and love a child, she experiences a frustra-
tion which can be remedied only by increased realization of
her powers in other realms of her life. Freud has called at-
tention to another lack of expenditure as a, cause of suffer-
ing, that of sexiial energy, by recognizing that the blocking
of sexual energy can be the cause of neurotic disturbances.
While Freud overvalued the significance of sexual satisfac-
tion, his theory is a profound symbolic expression of the
fact that man’s failure to use and to spend what he has is
the cause of sickness and unhappiness. The validity of this
principle is apparent with regard to psychic as well as physi-
cal powers. Man is endowed with the capacities of speaking
and thinking. If these powers were blocked, the person
iwoul^be severely damaged. Man has the power to love, and

•®This view has been strongly emphasized by K. Goldstein, H. S. Sul-
livan and K. Homey.

220 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

if he can not make use of his power, if he is incapable of
loving, he suffers from thft misfortune even though he may
try to ignore his suffering by all kinds of rationalizations or
by using the culturally patterned avenues of escape from
the pain caused by his failure.

The reason for the phenomenon that not using one's
powers results in unhappiness is to be fojmd in the very
condition of human existence. Man's existence is character-
ized by existential dichotomies which I have discussed in a
previous chapter. He has no other way to be one with the
world and at the same time to feel one with himself, to be
related to others and to retain his integrity as. a unique
entity, but by making productive use of his powers. If he
fails to do so, he can not achieve inner harmony and inte-
gration; he is tom and split, driven to escape from himself,
from the feeling of powerlessness, boredom and impotence
which are the necessary results of his failure. Man, being
alive, can not help wishing to live and the only way he can
succeed in the act of living is to use his powers, to spend
that which he has.

There is perhaps no phenomenon which shows more
clearly the result of man's failure in productive and inte-
grated living than neurosis. Every neurosis is the result of
a conflict between man's inherent powers and those forces
which block their development. Neurotic symptoms, like
the symptoms of a physical sickness, are the expression of
the fight which the healthy part of the personality puts up
against the crippling influences directed against its un-
folding.

However, lack of integration and productiveness does
not always lead to neurosis. As a matter of fact, if this were
the case, we would have to consider the vast majority of

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 221

people as neurotic. What, then, are the specific conditions
which make for the neurotic outcome? There are some con-
ditions which I can mention only briefly: for example, one
child may be broken more thoroughly than others, and the
conflict between his anxiety and his basic human desires
may, therefore, be sharper and more unbearable; or the
child may have developed a sense of freedom and original-
ity which is greater than that of the average person, and the
defeat may thus be more unacceptable.

But instead of enumerating other conditions which make
for neurosis, I prefer to reverse the question and ask what
the conditions are which are responsible for the fact that so
many people do not become neurotic in spite of the failure
in productive and integrated living. It seems to be useful at
this point to differentiate between two concepts: that of
defect, and that of neurosis.'^" If a person fails to attain ma-
turity, spontaneity, and a genuine experience of self, he may
be considered to have a severe defect, provided we assume
that freedom and spontaneity are the objective goals to be
attained by every human being. If such a goal is not at-
tained by the majority of members of any given society, we
deal with the phenomenon of socially patterned defect.
The individual shares it with many others; he is not aware
of it as a defect, and his security is not threatened by the
experience of being different, of being an outcast, as it were.
W^at he may have lost in richness and in a genuine feeling
of happiness is made up by the security he feels of fitting in
with the rest of mankind— as he knows them. As a matter
of fact, his very defect may have been raised to a virtue by

^®The following discussion of neurosis and defect is partly taken from
my paper, ^‘Individual and Social Origins of Neurosis/’ American Socio-
logical Review, IX, No. 4 (August, 1944).

222 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

his culture and thus give him an enhanced feeling of achieve-
ment. An illustration .is the feeling of guilt and anxiety
which Calvin’s doctrines aroused in men. It may be said
that the person who is overwhelmed by a feeling of his own
powerlessness and unworthiness, by the unceasing doubt of
whether he is saved or condemned to eternal punishment,
who is hardly capable of any genuine joy and has made him-
self into the cog of a machine which he has to serve, that
such a person, indeed, has a severe defect. Yet this very de-
fect was culturally patterned; it was looked upon as par-
ticularly valuable, and the individual was thus protected
from the neurosis which he would have acquired in a cul-
ture where the defect would give him a feeling of profound
inadequacy and isolation.

Spinoza has formulated the problem of the socially pat-
terned defect very clearly. He says: “Many people are
seized by one and the same effect with great consistency.
All his senses are so strongly affected by one object that he
believes this object to be present even if it is not. If this
happens while the person is awake, the person is believed to
be insane . . . But if the greedy person thinks only of money
and possessions, the ambitious one only of fame, one does
not think of them as being insane, but only as annoying;
generally one has contempt for them. But factually greedi-
ness, ambition, and so forth are forms of insanity, although
usually one does not think of them as ‘illness.’ ” These
words were written a few hundred years ago; they still hold
true, although the defect has been culturally patterned to
such an extent now that it is not generally thought any
more to be contemptible or even annoying. Today we can
meet a person who acts and feels like an automaton: we
Ethic, IV, Prop. 44 , Schol.

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 22^

find that he never experiences anything which is really his;
that he experiences himself entirely as the person he thinks
he is supposed to be; that smiles have replaced laughter,
meaningless chatter replaced communicative speech and
dulled despair has taken the place of genuine sadness. Two
statements can be made about this kind of person. One is
that he suffers from a defect of spontaneity and individual-
ity which may seem incurable. At the same time it may be
said that he does not differ essentially from thousands of
others who are in the same position. With most of them
the cultural pattern provided for the defect saves them
from the outbreak of neurosis. With some the cultural pat-
tern does not function, and the defect appears as a more or
less severe neurosis. The fact that in these cases the cultural
pattern does not suffice to prevent the outbreak of a mani-
fest neurosis is a result either of the greater intensity of the
pathological forces or of the greater strength of the healthy
forces which put up a fight even though the cultural pattern
would permit them to remain silent.

There is no situation which provides for a better op-
portunity to observe the strength and tenacity of the forces
striving for health than that of psychoanalytic therapy. To
be sure, the psychoanalyst is confronted with the strength
of those forces which operate against a person’s self-realiza-
tion and happiness, but when he can understand the power
of those conditions— particularly in childhood— which made
for the crippling of productiveness he cannot fail to be
impressed by the fact that most of his patients would long
since have given up the fight were they not impelled by an
impulse to achieve psychic health and happiness. This very
impulse is the necessary condition for the cure of neurosis.
While the process of psychoanalysis consists in gaining

224 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

greater insight into the dissociated parts of a person’s feel-
ings and ideas, intellectuarinsight as such is not a sufficient
condition for change. This kind of insight enables a person
to recognize the blind alleys in which he is caught and to
understand why his attempts to solve his problem were
doomed to failure; but it only clears the way for those
forces in him which strive for psychic health and happiness
to operate and to become effective. Indeed, merely in-
tellectual insight is not sufficient; the therapeutically effec-
tive insight is experiential insight in which knowledge of
oneself has not only an intellectual but also an affective
quality. Such experiential insight itself depends on the
strength of man’s inherent striving for health and happi-
ness.

The problem of psychic health and neurosis is insepa-
rably linked up with that of ethics. It may be said that
every neurosis represents a moral problem. The failure to
achieve maturity and integration of the whole personality
is a moral failure in the sense of humanistic ethics. In a
more specific sense many neuroses are the expression of
moral problems, and neurotic symptoms result from un-
solved moral conflicts. A man, for instance, may suffer from
spells of dizziness for which there is no organic cause. In
reporting his symptom to the psychoanalyst he mentions
casually that he is coping with certain difficulties in his job.
He is a successful teacher who has to express views which
run counter to his own convictions. He believes, however,
that he has solved the problem of being successful, on the
one hand, and of having preserved his moral integrity, on
the other, and he “proves” to himself the correctness of this
belief by a number of complicated rationalizations. He is
annoyed at the suggestion of the analyst that his symptom

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 225

may have something to do with his moral problem. How-
ever, the ensuing analysis shows that he was wrong in his
belief, his spells of dizziness were the reaction of his better
self, of his basically moral personality to a pattern of life
which forced him to violate his integrity and to cripple his
spontaneity.

Even if a person seems to be destructive only of others,
he violates the principle of life in himself as well as in
others. In religious language this principle has been ex-
pressed in terms of man’s being created in the image of
God, and thus any violation of man is a sin against God.
In secular language we would say that everything we do—
good or evil— to another human being we also do to our-
selves. “Do not do to others what you would not have them
do to you” is one of the most fundamental principles of
ethics. But it is equally justifiable to state: Whatever you
do to others, you also do to yourself. To violate the forces
directed toward life in any human being necessarily has
repercussions on ourselves. Our own growth, happiness,
and strength are based on the respect for these forces, and
one cannot violate them in others and remain untouched
oneself at the same time. The respect for life, that of others
as well as one’s own, is the concomitant of the proces? of
life itself and a condition of psychic health. In a way, de-
structiveness against others is a pathological phenomenon
comparable to suicidal impulses. While a person may suc-
ceed in ignoring or rationalizing destructive impulses, he—
his or^nism as it were— cannot help reacting and being
affected by acts which contradict the very principle by
which his life and all life are sustained. We find that the
destructive person is unhappy even if he has succeeded in
attaining the aims of his destructiveness, which undermines

226

PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

his own existence. Conversely, no healthy person can help
admiring, and being affected by, manifestations of decency,
love, and courage; for these are the forces on which his own
life rests.

B. REPRESSION VS. PRODUCTIVENESS

The position that man is basically destructive and selfish
leads to a concept which maintains that ethical behavior
consists in the suppression of these evil strivings in which
man would indulge without exercising constant self-control.
Man, according to this principle, must be his own watch-
dog; he must, in the first place, recognize that his nature is
evil, and, in the second, use his will power to fight his in-
herent evil tendencies. Suppression of evil or indulgence in
it would then be his alternative.

Psychoanalytic research offers a wealth of data concern-
ing the nature of suppression, its various kinds, and their
consequences. We can differentiate between (i) suppres-
sion of the acting out of an evil impulse, (2) suppression
of the awareness of the impulse, and ( 3) a constructive fight
against the impulse.

In the first kind of suppression not the impulse itself is
suppressed but the action which would follow from it. A
case in point is a person with strong sadistic strivings who
would be satisfied and pleased to make others suffer or to
dominate them. Suppose his fear of disapproval or the
moral precepts he has accepted tell him that he should not
act upon his impulse; hence he refrains from such ac-
tion and does not do what he would wish to do. While one
can not deny that this person has achieved a victory over
himself, he has not really changed; his character has re-

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 227

mained the same and what we can admire in him is only his
“will power." But quite aside from the moral evaluation of
such behavior, it is unsatisfactory in its effectiveness as a
safeguard against man’s destructive tendencies. It would re-
quire an extraordinary amount of “will power” or of fear of
severe sanctions to keep such a person from acting accord-
ing to his impulse. Since every decision would be the result
of an inner battle against strong opposing forces, the
chances for the triumph of the good would be so precarious
that from the standpoint of the interest of society this type
of suppression is too unreliable.

By far the more effective way to deal with evil strivings
would seem to be to hinder them from becoming con-
scious, so that there is no conscious temptation. 'This kind
of suppression is what Freud called “repression." Repres-
sion means that the impulse, although it exists, is not per-
mitted to enter the realm of consciousness or is quickly re-
moved from it. To use the same illustration, the sadistic
person would not be aware of his wish to destroy or to
dominate; there would be no temptation and no struggle.

Repression of evil strivings is that kind of suppression
upon which authoritarian ethics relies implicitly or ex-
plicitly as the safest road to virtue. But while it is true that
repression is a safeguard against action, it is much less effec-
tive than its advocates believe it to be.

Repressing an impulse means removing it from aware-
ness but it does not mean removing it from existence.
Freud has shown that the repressed impulse continues to
operate and to exercise a profound influence upon the per-
son although the person is not aware of it. The effect of the
repressed impulse on the person is not even necessarily
smaller than if it were conscious; the main difference is that

16

228 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

it is not acted upon overtly but in disguise, so that the per-
son acting is spared the knowledge of what he is doing. Our
sadistic person, for instance, not being aware of his sadism,
may have the feeling that he dominates other people out
of concern for what— he thinks— would be best for them or
because of his strong sense of duty.

But as Freud has shown, the repressed strivings are not
acted out in such rationalizations only. A person, for
instance, may develop a “reaction-formation,” the very
opposite of the repressed striving, as, for instance, over-
solicitousness or overkindness. Yet the power of the re-
pressed striving becomes apparent indirectly, a phenome-
non which Freud called “the return of the repressed.” In
this case a person whose oversolicitousness has developed
as a reaction-formation against his sadism may use this
“virtue” with the same effect jiis manifest sadism would
have had: to dominate and to control. While he feels
virtuous arid superior, the effect on others is often even
more devastating because it is hard to defend oneself
against tqo much “virtue.”

Entirely different from suppression and repression is a
third type of reaction to destructive impulses. While in
suppression the impulse remains alive and only the action
is prohibited, and while in repression the impulse itself is
removed from consciousness and is acted upon (to some
extent) in disguised fashion, in this third type of reaction
the life-furthering forces in a person fight against the de-
structive and evil impulses. The more aware a person is of
the latter the more is he able to react. Not only his will and
his reason take part, but those emotional forces in him
which are challenged by his destructiveness. In a sadistic
person, for instance, such a fight against sadism will develop

THE MOKAL POWERS IN MAN 229

a genuine kindness which becomes part of his character and
relieves him from the task of being his own watchdog and
of using his will power constantly for “self-control.” In this
reaction the emphasis is not on one’s feeling of badness and
remorse but on the presence and use of productive forces
within man. Thus, as a result of the productive conflict
between good and evil, the evil itself becomes a source of
virtue.

It follows from the standpoint of humanistic ethics that
the ethical alternative is not between suppression of evil or
indulgence in it. Both— repression and indulgence— are only
two aspects of bondage, and the real ethical alternative is
not between them but between repression-indulgence on
the one hand and productiveness on the other. The aim of
humanistic ethics is not the repression of man’s evilness
(which is fostered by the crippling effect of the authori-
tarian spirit) but the productive use of ‘man’s inherent
primary potentialities. Virtue is proportional to the degree
of productiveness a person has achieved. If society is con-
cerned with making people virtuous, it must be concerned
with making them productive and hence with creating the
conditions for the development of productiveness. The first
and foremost of these conditions is that the unfolding and
growth of every person is the aim of all social and political
activities, that man is the only purpose and end, and not a
means for anybody or anything except himself.

The productive orientation is the basis for freedom, vir-
tue, and happiness. Vigilance is the price of virtue, but not
the vigilance of the guard who has to shut in the evil
prisoner; rather, the vigilance of the rational being who has
to recognize and to create the conditions for his productive-
ness and to do away with those factors which block him

230 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

and thus create the evil which, once it has arisen, can be
prevented from becoming'‘manifest only by external or in-
ternal force.

Authoritarian ethics has imbued people with the idea
that to be good would require a tremendous and relentless
effort; that man has to fight himself constantly and that
every false step he makes could be disastrous. This view
follows from the authoritarian premise. If man were such
an evil beihg and if virtue were only the victory over him-
self, then indeed the task would seem appallingly difficult.
But if virtue is the same as productiveness, its achievement
is, though not simple, by no means such a laborious and
difficult enterprise. As we have shown, the wish to make
productive use of his powers is inherent in man, and his
efforts consist mainly in removing the obstacles in himself
and in his environment which block him from following
his inclination. Just as the person who has become sterile
and destructive is increasingly paralyzed and caught, as it
were, in a'viyicious circle, a person who is aware of his own
powers and uses them productively gains in strength, faith,
and happiness, and is less and less in danger of being
alienated from himself; he has created, as we might say, a
“virtuolis circlei” The experience of joy and happiness is
not only, as we have shown, the result of productive living
but also its stimulus. Repression of evilness may spring
from a spirit of self-castigation and sonow, but there is
nothing more conducive to goodness in the humanistic
sense than the experience of joy and happines^ which ac-
companies any productive activity. Every increase in joy a
culture can provide for will do more for the ethical educa-
tion of its members than all the warnings of punishment or
preachings of virtue could do.

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN

231

C. CHARACTER AND MORAL JUDGMENT

The problem of moral judgment is frequently asso-
ciated with that of freedom of will vs. determinism. One
view holds that man is completely determined by circum-
stances which he can not control, and that the idea that
man is free in his decisions is nothing but an illusion. From
this premise the conclusion is drawn that man can not be
judged for his actions since he is not free in making his
decisions. The opposite view maintains that man has the
faculty of free will, which he can exercise regardless of
psychological or external conditions and circumstances;
hence that he is responsible for his actions and can be
judged by them.

It would seem that the psychologist is compelled to sub-
scribe to determinism. In studying the development of
character he recognizes that the child starts his life in an
indifferent moral state, and that his character is shaped by
external influences which are most powerful in the early
years of his life, when he has neither the knowledge nor the
power to change the circumstances which determine his
character. At an age when he might attempt to change the
conditions under which he lives, his character is already
formed and he lacks the incentive to investigate these con-
ditions and to change them, if necessary. If we assume that
the moral qualities of a person are rooted in his eharacter,
is it not true, then, that since he has no freedom in shaping
his character, he cannot be judged? Is it not true that the
more insight we have into the conditions which are respon-
sible for the formation of character and its dynamics, the
more inescapable seems the view that no person can be
morally judged?

232 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

Perhaps we can avoid this alternative between psycho-
logical understanding anif moral judgment by a com-
promise which is sometimes suggested by the adherents of
the free will theory. It is maintained that there are circum-
stances in the lives of people which preclude the exercise
of their free will and thus eliminate moral judgment.
Modem criminal law, for instance, has accepted this view
and does not hold an insane person responsible for his
actions. The proponents of a modified theory of free will
go one step further and admit that a person who is not
insane but neurotic, and thus under the sway of impulses
which he can not control, may also not be judged for his
actions. They claim, however, that most people have the
freedom to act well if they want to and that therefore they
must be morally judged.

But closer examination shows that even this view is
untenable. We are prone to believe that we act freely be-
cause, as Spinoza has already suggested, we are aware of
our wishes but unaware of their motivations. Our motives
are an outcome of the particular blend of forces operating
in our character. Each time we make a decision it is de-
termined by the good or evil forces, respectively, which are
dominant. In some people one particular force is so over-
whelmingly strong that the outcome of their decisions can
be predicted by anyone who knows their character and the
prevailing standards of values (although they themselves
might be under the illusion of having decided “freely”).
In others, destructive and constructive forces are balanced
in such a way that their decisions are not empirically pre-
dictable. When we say a person could have act^ differently
we refer to the latter case. But to say he could have acted
differently means only that we could not have predicted

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 233

his actions. His decision, however, shows that one set of
forces was stronger than the other and hence that even in
his'case his decision was determined by his character. There-
fore, if his character had been different he would have acted
differently, but again strictly according to the structure of
his character. The will is not an abstract power of man
which he possesses apart from his character. On the con-
trary, the will is nothing but the expression of his character.
The productive person who trusts his reason and who is
capable of loving others and himself has the will to act
virtuously. The nonproductive person who has failed to
develop these qualities and who is a slave of his irrational
passions lacks this will.

The view that it is our character which determines our
decisions is by no means fatalistic. Man, while like all other
creatures subject to forces which determine him, is the only
creature endowed with reason, the only being who is
capable of understanding the very forces which he is sub-
jected to and who by his understanding can take an active
part in his own fate and strengthen those elements which
strive for the good. Man is the only creature endowed with
conscience. His conscience is the voice which calls him back
to himself, it permits him to know what he ought to do in
order to become himself, it helps him to remain aware of
the aims of his life and of the norms necessary for the at-
tainment of these aims. We are therefore not helpless vic-
tims of circumstance; we are, indeed, able to change and
to influence forces inside and outside ourselves and to con-
trol, at least to some extent, the conditions which play
upon us. We can foster and enhance those conditions
which develop the striving for good and bring about its
realization. But while we have reason and conscience, which

234 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

enable us to be active participants in our life, reason and
conscience themselves are inseparably linked up with our
character. If destructive forces and irrational passions have
gained dominance in our character, both our reason and
our conscience are affected and cannot exercise their func-
tion properly. Indeed, the latter are our most precious
capacities which it is our task to develop and to use; but
they are not free and undetermined and they do not exist
apart from our empirical .<:elf; they are forces within the
structure of our total personality and, like every part of a
structure, determined by the structure as a whole, and de-
termining it.

If we base our moral judgment of a person on the de-
cision as to whether or not he could have willed differently,
no moral judgment can be made. How can we know, for
instance, the strength of a person’s innate vitality that
made it possible for him to resist environmental forces
acting upon him in his childhood and later on; or the lack
of vitality that makes another person submit to the very
same forces? How can we know whether in one person’s
life an accidental event such as the contact with a good and
loving person might not have influenced his character de-
velopment in one direction while the absence of such an
experience might have influenced it in the opposite direc-
tion? Indeed, we can not know. Even if we would base
moral judgment on the premise that a person could have
acted differently, the constitutional and environmental fac-
tors which make for the development of his character are
so numerous and complex that it is impossible, for all
practical purposes, to arrive at a conclusive judgment
whether or not he could have developed differently. All we
can assume is that circumstances as they were led to the
development as it occuned. It follows that if our ability to

THE MORAL POWERS IN MAN 235

judge a person depended on our knowledge that he could
have acted differently, we, as students of character, would
have to admit defeat as far as ethical judgments are con-
cerned.

Yet this conclusion is unwarranted because it is based on
false premises and on confusion about the meaning of
judgment. To judge can mean two different things: to
judge means to exercise the mental functions of assertion
or predication. But “to judge” means also to have the func-
tion of a “judge” referring to the activity of absolving and
condemning.

The latter kind of moral judging is based upon the idea
of an authority transcending man and passing judgment
on him. This authority is privileged to absolve or to con-
demn and punish. Its dicta are absolute, because it is above
man and empowered with wisdom and strength unattain-
able by him. Even the picture of the judge, who, in demo-
cratic society, is elected and theoretically not above his
fellow men, is tinged by the old concept of a judging god.
Although his person does not carry any superhuman power,
his office does. (The forms of respect due the judge are
surviving remnants of the respect due a superhuman au-
thority; contempt of court is psychologically closely related
to Idse-ma/este.) But many persons who have not the ofBce
of a judge assume the role of a judge, ready to condemn or
absolve, when they make moral judgments. Their attitude
often contains a good deal of sadism and destructiveness.
‘There is perhaps no phenomenon which contains so much
destructive feeling as “moral indignation,” which permits
envy or hate to be acted out under the guise of virtue.”

^2 A. Ranulfs book. Moral Indignation and the Middle Class, is an
excellent illustration of this point, 'fte title of the book could just as well
be ''Sadism and the Middle Class.'’

236 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

The “indignant" person for once the satisfaction of
despising and treating a creature as “inferior/’ coupled with
the feeling of his own superiority and righteousness.

Humanistic judgment of ethical values has the same
logical character as a rational judgment in general. In mak-
ing value judgments one judges facts and does not feel one
is godlike, superior, and entitled to condemn or forgive. A
judgment that a person is destructive, greedy, jealous,
envious is not different from a physician’s statement about
a dysfunction of the heart or the lungs. Suppose we have to
judge a murderer whom we know to be a pathological case.
If we could learn all about his heredity, his early and later
environment, we would very likely come to the conclusion
that he was completely under the sway of conditions over
which he had no, power; in fact, much more so than a petty
thief and, therefore, much more “understandable” than the
latter. But this does not mean that we ought not to judge
his evilness. We can understand how and why he became
what he is, but we can also judge him as to what he is. We
can even assume that we would have become like him had
we lived under the same circumstances; but while such con-
siderations prevent us from assuming a godlike role, they
do not prevent us from moral judgment. The problem of
understanding versus judging character is not different from
the understanding and judging of any other human per-
formance. If I have to judge the value of a pair of shoes or
that of a painting, I do so according to certain objective
standards intrinsic to the objects. Assuming the shoes or
the painting to be of poor quality, and that somebody
pointed to the fact that the shoemaker or the painter had
tried very hard but that certain conditions made it impos-
sible for him to do better, I will not in either case change.

THE MORAI. POWERS IN MAN

237

my judgment of the product. I may feel sympathy or pity
for the shoemaker or the painter, I may feel tempted to
help him, but I can not say that I can not judge his work
because I understand why it is so poor.

Man’s main task in life is to give birth to himself, to be-
come what he potentially is. The most important product
of his effort in his own personality. One can judge objec-
tively to what extent the person has succeeded in his task,
to what degree he has realized his potentialities. If he
failed in his task, one can recognize this failure and judge
it for what it is— his moral failure. Even if one knows that
the odds against the person were overwhelming and that
everyone else would have failed too, the judgment about
him remains the same. If one fully understands all the cir-
cumstances which made him as he is, one may have com-
passion for him; yet this compassion does not alter the
validity of the judgment. Understanding a person does not
mean condoning; it only means that one does not accuse him
as if one were God or a judge placed above him.

6. Absolute vs. Relative, Universal vs. Socially
Immanent Ethics

We see men sometimes so affected by one object, that
although it is not present, they believe it to be before them;
and if this happens to a man who is not asleep, we say that
he is delirious or mad. Nor are those believed to be less
mad who are inflamed by love, dreaming about nothing
but a mistress or harlot day and night, for they excite our
laughter. But the avaricious man who thinks of nothing
else but gain or money, and the ambitious man who thinks
of nothing but glory, inasmuch as they do harm, and are,
therefore, thou^t worthy of hatred, are not believed to be

238 PROBLEMS OP HUMANISTIC ETHICS

mad. In tnith, however, avarice, ambition, lust, etc., are a
kind of madness, although they are not reckoned amongst
diseases.

—Spinoza, Ethics

The discussion of absolute as against relative ethics has
been considerably and unnecessarily confused by the un-
critical use of the terms “absolute” and “relative.” An at-
tempt will be made in this chapter to differentiate their
several connotations and to discuss the different meanings
separately.

The first meaning in which “absolute” ethics is used
holds that ethical propositions are unquestionably and
eternally true and neither permit nor warrant revision. This
concept of absolute ethics is to be found in authoritarian
systems, and it follows logically from the premise that the
criterion of validity is the unquestionable superior and
omniscient power of the authority. It is the very essence of
this claim to superiority that the authority can not err and
that its commands and prohibitions are eternally true. We
can be very brief in disposing of the idea that ethical norms
in order to be valid have to be “absolute.” This concept,
which is based on the theistic premise of the existence of
an “absolute” = perfect power in comparison with which
man is necessarily “relative” = imperfect has been super-
seded in all other fields of scientific thought, where it is
generally recognized that there is no absolute truth but
nevertheless that there are objectively valid laws and prin-
ciples. As has been previously pointed out, a scientific or a
rationally valid statement means that the power of reason
is applied to all the available data of observation without
any of them being suppressed or falsified for the sake of a

ABSOLUTE VS. RELATIVE ETHICS 239

desired result. The history of science is a history of inade-
quate and incomplete statements, and every new insight
makes possible the recognition of the inadequacies of previ-
ous propositions and offers a springboard for creating a more
adequate formulation. The history of thought is the history
of an ever-increasing approximation to the truth. Scientific
knowledge is not absolute but “optimal”; it contains the
optimum of truth attainable in a given historical period.
Various cultures have emphasized various aspects of the
truth, and the more mankind becomes united culturally,
the more will these various aspects become integrated into
a total picture.

There is another sense in which ethical norms are not
absolute: not only are they subject to revision like all scien-
tific statements, but there are certain situations which are
inherently insoluble and do not permit any choice which
can be considered “the” right one. Spencer, in his discus-
sion of relative .versus absolute ethics,’® gives an illustration
of such a conflict. He speaks of a tenant farmer who wishes
to vote in a general election. He knows that his landlord is
a conservative and that he risks the chance of eviction if he
votes according to his own conviction, which is liberal.
Spencer believes that the conflict is one between injuring
the state and injuring his family, and he arrives at the re-
sult that here as “in countless cases no one can decide by
which of the alternative courses the least wrong is likely to
be done.” The alternative in this case seems not to be
correctly stated by Spencer, There would be an ethical con-
flict even if there were no family involved but only the risk
of his own happiness and safety. On the other hand, not

Principles of Ethics, pp. 258 £E.

” 7 bid., p. 267.

240 PKOBIJEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

only the interest of die state is at stake but also his own
int^;iity. What he is really confronted with is the choice
between his physical and thereby also (in some respects)
his mental well-being on the one side, and his integrity on
the other. Whatever he does is right and wrong at the same
time. He can not make a choice which is valid because the
problem he faces is inherently insoluble. Such situations of
insoluble ethical conflicts arise necessarily in connection
with existential dichotomies. In this case, however, we deal
not with an existential dichotomy which is inherent in the
human situation but with a historical dichotomy which can
be removed. The tenant farmer is faced with such an un-
answerable conflict only because the social order presents
him with a situation in which no satisfactory solution is
possible. If the social constellation changes, the ethical
conflict will disappear. But as long as these conditions
exist, any decision he makes is both right and wrong, al-
though the decision in favor of his integrity may be held
to be morally superior to that in favor of his life.

The last and the most important meaning in which the
terms “absolute” and “relative” ethics are used is one
which is more adequately expressed as the difference be-
tween universal and socially immanent ethics. By “uni-
versal” ethics 1 mean norms of conduct the aim of which
is the growth and unfolding of man; by “socially immanent”
ethics I mean such norms as are necessary for the function-
ing and survival of a specific kind of society and of the
people living in it. An example of the concept of universal
ethics may he found in such norms as “Love thy neighbor
as thyself” or “Thou shalt not kill.” Indeed, the ethical
systems of all great cultures show an amazing similarity in
what is considered necessary for the development of man.

ABSOLUTE VS. RELATIVE ETHICS 24I

of norms which follow from the nature of man and the con-
ditions necessary for his growth.

By “socially immanent” ethics I refer to those norms in
any culture which contain prohibitions and commands that
are necessary only for the functioning and survival of that
particular society. It is necessary for the survival of any
society that its members submit to the rules which are
essential to its particular mode of production and mode of
life. The group must tend to mold the character structure
of its members in such a way that they want to do what
they have to do under the existing circumstances. Thus, for
instance, courage and initiative become imperative virtues
for a warrior society, patience and helpfulness become vir-
tues for a society in which agricultural cooperation is
dominant. In modem society, industry has been elevated to
the position of one of the highest virtues because the mod-
em industrial system needed the drive to work as one of
its most important productive forces. The qualities which
rank highly in the operation of a particular society become
part of its ethical system. Any society has a vital interest in
having ite mles obeyed and its “virtues” adhered to because
its survival depends on this adherence.

In addition to norms in the interest of society as a whole,
we find other ethical norms which differ from class to class.
A case in point is the emphasis on the virtues of modesty
and obedience for the lower classes and of ambition and
aggressiveness for the upper classes. The more fixed and
institutionalized the class stmcture is, the more will dif-
ferent sets of norms be explicitly related to different classes,
as, for instance, norms for free men or for serfs in a feudal
culture, or for whites and Negroes in the southern United
States. In modem democratic societies where class differ-

242 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

ences are not part of the 'institutionalized structure of so-
ciety, the different sets of norms are taught side by side: for
instance, the ethics of the New Testament and the norms
that are effective fo^ the conduct of a successful business.
According to one’s social position and talent each indi-
vidual will choose that set of norms which he can use while
perhaps continuing to pay lip service to the opposite set.
Difference in education at home and in school (as, for in-
stance, in the public schools of England and certain private
schools in the United States) tends to emphasize the par-
ticular set of values that fits in with the upper-class social
position without directly negating the other.

The function of the ethical system in any given society
is to sustain the life of that particular society. But such so-
cially immanent ethics is also in the interest of the indi-
vidual; since the society is structured in a certain way,
which he as an individual cannot change, his individual
self-interest is bound up with the society’s. At the same
time the society, however, may be organized in such a way
that the norms necessary for its survival conflict with the
universal norms necessary for the fullest development of its
members. This is especially true in societies in which privi-
leged groups dominate or exploit the rest of the members.
The interests of the privileged group conflict with those of
the majority, but inasmuch as the society functions on the
basis of such a class structure, the norms imposed upon all
by the members of the privileged group are necessary for
the survival of everybody as long as t\e structure of the
society is not fundamentally changed.

'The ideologies prevalent in such a culture will tend to
deny that there is any contradiction. They will claim, in the
-first place, that the ethical norms of that society are of

ABSOLUTE VS. RELATIVE ETHICS 243

equal value to all its members and will tend to emphasize
that those norms which tend to uphold the existing social
structure are universal norms resulting from the necessities
of human existence. Tire prohibition against theft, for
instance, is often made to appear as springing from the
same “human” necessity as docs the prohibition against
iTiurder. Thus norms which are necessary only in the inter-
est of the survival of a special kind of society arc given the
dignity of universal norms inherent in human existence and
therefore universally applicable. As long as a certain type of
social organization is historically indispensable, the individ-
ual has no choice but to accept the ethical norms as binding.
But when a society retains a structure which operates against
the interests of a majority, while the basis for a change is
present, the awareness of the socially conditioned character
of its norms will become an important element in further-
ing tendencies to change the social order. Such attempts
are usually called unethical by the representatives of the
old order. One calls those who want happiness for them-
selves “selfish” and those who want to retain their privileges,
“responsible.” Submission, on the other hand, is glorified
as the virtue of “unselfishness” and “devotion.”

While the conflict between socially immanent and uni-
versal ethics has decreased in the process of human evolu-
tion, there remains a conflict between the two types of
ethics as long as humanity has not succeeded in building a
society in which the interest of “society” has become identi-
cal with that of all its members. As long as this point has
not been reached in human evolution, the historically con-
ditioned social necessities clash with the universal existential
necessities of the individual. If the individual lived five
hundred or one thousand years, this clash might not exist

*7

244 PROBLEMS OF HUMANISTIC ETHICS

or at least might be eonsiderably redueed. He then might
live and harvest with joyVhat he sowed in sorrow; the
suffering of one historieal period which will bear fruit in
the next one could bear fruit for him too. But man lives
sixty or seventy years and he may never live to see the
harvest. Yet he is born as a unique being, having in him-
self all the potentialities which it is the task of mankind to
realize. It is the obligation of the student of the science of
man not to seek for “harmonious” solutions, glossing over
this contradiction, but to see it sharply. It is the task of the
ethical thinker to sustain and strengthen the voice of
human conscience, to recognize what is good or what is
bad for man, regardless of whether it is good or bad for
society at a special period of its evolution. He may be the
one who “cricth in the wilderness,” but only if this voice
remains alive and uncompromising will the wilderness
change into fertile land. I’he contradiction between im-
nianciit social ethics and universal ethics will be reduced
and tend to disappear to the same extent to which society
becomes truly human, that is, takes care of the full human
development of all its members.

CHAPTER V

The Moral Problem of Today

Until philosophers are Icings, or the kings and princes
of this world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and
political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those com-
moner natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the
other are compelled to stand aside, cities will never have
rest from their evils, no, nor the human race, as I believe
—and then only will this our State have a possibility of life
and behold the light of day.

—Plato, The Republic

Is there a special moral problem of today? Is not the moral
problem one and the same for all times and for all men?
Indeed it is, and yet every culture has specific moral prob-
lems which grow out of its particular structure, although
these specific problems are only various facets of the moral
problems of man. Any such particular facet can be under-
stood only in relation to the basic and general problem of
man. In this concluding chapter I want to emphasize one
specific aspect of the general moral problem, partly because
it is a crucial one from the psychological viewpoint and
partly because we are tempted to evade it, being under the
illusion of having solved this very problem: man’s attitude
toward force and power.

Man’s attitude toward force is rooted in the very con-
ditions of his existence. As physical beings we arc subject

M5

17'

246 THE MORAL PROBLEM OF TODAY

to power— to the power of nature and to the power of man.
Physical force can deprive us of our freedom and kill us.
Whether we can resist or overcome it depends on the ac-
cidental factors of our own physical strength and the
strength of our weapons. Our mind, on the other hand, is
not directly subject to power. The truth which we have
recognized, the ideas in which we have faith, do not be-
come invalidated by force. Might and reason exist on dif-
ferent planes, and force never disproves truth.

Does this mean that man is free even if he is bom in
chains? Does it mean that the spirit of a slave can be as
free as that of his master, as St. Paul and Luther have
maintained? It would indeed simplify the problem of hu-
man existence tremendously if this were true. But this
position ignores the fact that ideas and the truth do not
exist outside and independently of man, and that man’s mind
is influenced by his body, his mental state by his physical
and social existence. Man is capable of knowing the truth
and he is capable of loving, but if he— not just his body, but
he in his totality— is threatened by superior force, if he is
made helpless and afraid, his mind is affected, its operations
become distorted and paralyzed. The paralyzing effect of
power does not rest only upon the fear it arouses, but
equally on an implicit promise— the promise that those in
possession of power can protect and take care of the “weak”
who submit to it, that they can free man from the burden
of uncertainty and of responsibility for himself by guaran-
teeing order and by assigning the individual a place in this
order which makes him feci secure.

Man's submission to this combination of threat and
promise is his real “fall.” By submitting to power = domi-
nation he loses his power = potency. He loses his power to

THE MORAL I'ROBLEM OF TODAY 247

make use of all those capacities which make him truly human;
his reason ceases to operate; he may be intelligent, he may be
capable of manipulating things and himself, but he accepts
as truth that which those who have power over him call the
truth. He loses his power of love, for his emotions are tied
to those upon whom he depends. He loses his moral sense,
for his inability to question and criticize those in power
stultifies his moral judgment with regard to anybody and
anything. He is prey to prejudice and superstition for he is
incapable of inquiring into the validity of the premises
upon which rest such false beliefs. His own voice cannot
call him back to himself since he is not able to listen to it,
being so intent on listening to the voices of those who have
power over him. Indeed, freedom is the necessary condition
of happiness as well as of virtue; freedom, not in the sense
of the ability to make arbitrary choices and not freedom
from necessity, but freedom to realize that which one
potentially is, to fulfill the true nature of man according to
the laws of his existence.

If freedom, the ability to preserve one’s integrity against
power, is the basic condition for moiality, has man in the
Western world not solved his moral problem? Is it not only
a problem of people living under authoritarian dictator-
ships which deprive them of their personal and political
freedom? Indeed, the freedom attained in modern democ-
racy implies a promise for the development of man which
is absent in any kind of dictatorship, regardless of their
proclamations that they act in man’s interest. But it is a
promise only, and not yet a fulfillment. We mask our own
moral problem from ourselves if we focus our attention on
comparing our culture with modes of life which are the
negation of the best achievements of humanity, and thus

THE MORAL PROBLEM OF TODAY

248

we ignore the fact that we too bow down to power, not to
that of a dictator and a political bureaucracy allied with
him, but to the anonymous power of the market, of suc-
cess, of public opinion, of “common sense”— or rather, of
common nonsense— and of the machine whose servants we
have become.

Our moral problem is man’s indifference to himself. It lies
in the fact that we have lost the sense of the significance and
uniqueness of the individual, that we have made ourselves
into instruments for purposes outside ourselves, that we
experience and treat ourselves as commodities, and that our
own powers have become alienated from ourselves. We
have become things and our neighbors have become things.
The result is that we feel powerless and despise ourselves
for our impotence. Since we do not trust our own power,
we have no faith in man, no faith in ourselves or in what
our own powers can create. We have no conscience in the
humanistic sense, since we do not dare to trust our judg-
ment. We are a herd believing that the road we follow must
lead to a goal since we see everybody else on the same road.
We are in the dark and keep up our courage because we
hear everybody else whistle as we do.

Dostoyevsky once said, “If God is dead, everything is
allowed.” This is, indeed, what most people believe; &ey
differ only in that some draw the conclusion that God and
the church must remain alive in order to uphold the moral
order, while others accept the idea that everything is
allowed, that there is no valid moral principle, that ex-
pediency is the only regulative principle in life.

In contrast, humanistic ethics takes the position that if
man is alive he knows what is allowed;, and to be alive
means to be productive, to use one’s powers not for any

THE MORAL PROBLEM OF TODAY 249

purpose transcending man, but for oneself, to make sense
of one's existence, to be human. As long as anyone be-
lieves that his ideal and purpose is outside him, that it is
above the clouds, in the past or in the future, he will go
outside himself and seek fulfillment where it can not be
found. He will look for solutions and answers at every point
except the one where they can be found— in himself.

Tire “realists” assure us that the problem of ethics is a
relic of the past. Tliey tell us that psychological or socio-
logical analysis shows that all values are only relative to a
given culture. They propose that our personal and social
future is guaranteed by our material effectiveness alone. But
these “realists” are ignorant of some hard facts. Tliey do
not see that the emptiness and planlessness of individual
life, that the lack of productiveness and the consequent
lack of faith in oneself and in mankind, if prolonged, re-
sults in emotional and mental disturbances which would
incapacitate man even for the achievement of his material
aims.

Prophecies of doom are heard today with increasing fre-
quency. While they have the important function of drawing
attention to the dangerous possibilities in our present situa-
tion they fail to take into account the promise which is
implied in man's achievement in the natural sciences, in
psychology, in medicine and in art. Indeed, these achieve-
ments portray the presence of strong productive forces which
are not compatible with the picture of a decaying culture.
Our period is a period of transition. The Middle Ages did
not end in the fifteenth century, and the modern era did
not begin immediately afterward. End and beginning im-
ply a process which has lasted over four hundred years—
a very short time indeed if we measure it in historical terms

250 THE MORAL PROBLEM OF TODAY

and not'in terms of our life span. Our period is an end and
a beginning, pregnant with possibilities.

If I repeat now the question raised in the beginning of this
book, whether we have reason to be proud and to be hope-
ful, the answer is again in the aflirmative, but with the one
qualification which follows from what we have discussed
throughout: neither the good nor the evil outcome is auto-
matic or preordained. The decision rests with man. It rests
upon his ability to take himself, his life and happiness seri-
ously; on his willingness to face his and his society’s moral
problem. It rests upon his courage to be himself and to be
for himself.

INDEX

Activity, 17, 18, 25, 62, 67, 8i;-'87,
92-93, 106, 175, 176, 177, 190,
194, 195-96, 208, 210, 230
Adler, Mortimer J., 31
Aquinas, Thomas, 2 1 1
Approval-disapproval, 164
Aristippus, 174

Aristotle, concept of activity, 85,
92; on art, 17, 25, 30; on love,
123; on the science of man, 25-
26; in relation to pleasure and
happiness, 175, 176, 178; on
productiveness, 91-92
Art, 17-19, 100, 189, 207, 249
Assimilation, 58, 59 et seq.
Augustine, St, 150, 211, 212
Authontarian character, 86, 144-
58, 166, 212, 222. See also Ex-
ploitative character
Authoritarian ethics, see Ethical
norms

Authority, 5, 8-12, 15-16, 86, 143-
58, 167, 168, 171, 172, 173,
201, 202, 204, 205

Bally, G., 187
Balzac, 56, 109

Behavior patterns (traits), 22, 54-

56, 57- 59
Bergson, H., 87
Brentano, 87
Buddha, 35, 103
Butler, 143

Calvin, 119-21, 122, 134-35, 149,
150, 212, 222

Character, 151, 198, 214, 215, 226,
241; and behavior, 32-33, 5*1-56,
57, 59; dynamic concept of, 54
et seq.; in relation to human na-
ture, 38 et seq.; Hie neurotic, 15,
23, 32, 83; and personality, 7;
and genital sexuality, 83; its re-
lation to virtue, 36; and moral
|udgmcnt, 231-37. See also Ex-
ploitative, Hoarding, Market, Lov-
ing and Receptive character types
Chrysippus, 142
Cicero, 142

Conscience, 141-43, 233; authori-
tarian, 143-58; humanistic, 158-

72

Destructiveness, 151, 211, 213-14,
216-17, 225, 226-29, 235
Devvey, John, 25, 32; ethics and psy-
chology, 30-31; means-ends rela-
tionships, 28-29; value judgments
and inquiry, 28
Dichotomy, 40-45, 220, 240
Dilthey, 87
Dostoievsky, 249
Doubt, 199-201

Education, 76, 156, 207, 209
Engels, 124
Epicurus, 15, 174
Equality, 74, 198

Ethical norms, 118 et seq.; absolute
vs. relativistic, authorita-

rian, 8-14, 21; and human na-

251

INDEX

252

ture, 6; humanistic, 8, 12-14,
1 8-20, • 25-30; and moral powers
in man, 210 et scq.; and the
moral problem, 245 et seq.; rela-
tion to psychoanalysis, 6, 7, 30-
37; and reason, 5-6; subjective
vs^ objective, 14 et scq.

Exploitative character, 64-65, 80-
81, 86, 88, 108-09, 111, 113,
“5

Exup6ry, Antoine de Saint-, 195

Faith, 197-99; irrational, 201, 203-
05, 210; rational, 205-10

Falvey, Hal, 80

Flugel, J. C., 31

Freedom, 6, 27, 107, 109, 149, 154,
157, 167, 198, 204, 210, 221,
229, 231, 232, 246-48

Freud, 7; and cultural adaptation,
23; his characterology, 32; char-
acter and behavior, 54; his con-
cept of mature character, 36, 83;
character traits and libido, 56-57;
character organization, 57; cona-
tive nature of character traits, 56;
and authoritarian conscience, 144,
145, 151; death instinct, 46, 213,
216; a difference from Freud, 50;
his discovery of new method, 31-
72; and the ego, 33; the Super-
Ego and relativism, 34; ethical
norms and social life, 3J5; ethics,
truth and health, 35-3^ mecha-
nistic-naturalistic views, 45-46;
morality as reaction formation,
34-25; theory of narcissism and
fibiao, 128, 131; interest in neu-
rotic symptoms, 32; his non-rela-
tivism, 35-36; Oedipus complex,
157; concept of pleasure, 183; on
the pregenital character, 61, 83;
concept of repression, 227-28;
concept of sex, 188, 210; belief
in truth, 35; his study of uncon-
scious strivings, 33

Fromm, Erich, 119, 146, 15a

Goethe, 92-94, 177
Goldstein, K., 219
Gordon, R. G., 54
Guyau, 177

Happiness, 4, 14, 15, 19, 25-26, 27,
42, 43, 45, 70, 80, 118, 121-22,
130, 132-33, 138, 160, 172, 173,
176, 177, 178, 181-82, 186, 188-
91, 223, 225, 229-30, 247, 250
Hate, 131, 214-15
Hedonism, 15-16, 174-75, 190-91
Hegel, 124
Heidegger, 159
Helvetius, 123
Hippocrates, 51
Hitler, 145, 202-03
Hoarding character, 65-67, 81, 109-
10, 111-12, 115
Hobbes, 212
Hokusai, 163-64
Homey, Karen, 127, 219
Humanistic ethics, see Ethical norms
Husserl, 87
Huxley, Julian, 167

Ibsen, 73, 92, 94-96
Intelligence, 75, 102

James, William, 87, 130, 136
Jefferson, T., 212
Judgment, moral, 231-32, 234-37
Jung, C. G., viii-ix, 51, 53

Kafka, F., 152, 167-71
Kant, 16, 121-23, ^43

Kretschmer, 52, 53, 54

Leibnitz, 33
Linton, Ralph, 20
Love, 46, 62, 64, 65-66, 75, 88, 96
et seq., 107, 110

Love, self-love and sdfi^ness, 7,
»»9-33» ^88, 215, 220

INDEX

253

Luther, 121, 122, 134, 149, 150,
212, 246

Lynd, Robert S., 127

Man, 4; his alienation, 75; as a pro-
ducing animal, 84; his biological
weakness, 39; Ins relation to ex-
istential and historical dichoto-
mies, 40-45, 47; in relation to
authoritarianism and humanistic
ethics, 8-9, 12-13, 16, 18-20,
25-30; and Freud's theory of
Super-Ego, 34-35; his need for
orientation and devotion, 46-50;
his potency, 88; his feeling of
powerlessness, 4; his productive-
ness, 90 et seq.; his modes of re-
latedness, 58-59; and relativism,
5; the science of, 20-24; value
judgments, 6, 7
Mannheim, K., 106
Marcuse, H., 174
Market, see Market character
Market (social) character, 67-78,
81-82, 87, 102, 111, 112, 115-
16, 136-37, 155, 222-23, 248
Marx, 27-28

Masochism, 179, 188. Sec also Re-
ceptive character
McDougall, William, 54
Morgan, G. A., 125
Morns, Charles W,, 51, 97
Moses, 203-04
Mullahy, P,, x, 31
Munsterberg, 87

Natorp, 87
Niebuhr, R., 212

Nietzsche, 103, 123, 124-26, 151,

177

Oedipus complex, 35, 157
Orientation, 39 et seq.; in relation
to character, 58 et seq.

Paul, St., 150, 246

Pelagius, 211-12

Personality, 50-51, 158, 159, 200,
201, 206. See also Character

Pico della Mirandola, 212

Pirandello, 136

Plato, 175, 178

Pleasure, 15, 92; as an end, 191-93;
in relation to happiness, 172-83;
relation to means, i93-q5, social
function of, 195-97, types of,
185-91

Polanyi, K., 68

Power, 4, Q, 14, 20, 27, 44-45, 46,
72-73, 84, 87-88, 90, 92, 96-97,
108-09, 208-10,

211-12, 219-20, 247, 248

Productive (loving) character, 7,
82-85, 90-101^ 103-06, 107,

1 1 1

Productiveness, 7, 27, 45, 84-85,
87-88, 90-92, 94, 96. 97 ct seq.,
110, 113, 129, 149-50, 151, 159,
160, 163, i’;’3, 177, iiSi, 186,
187, 188, 189, 208, 209, 214,
229-30, 233, 248-49 See also
Productive cl»ar.'ict(i

Psychoanalysis, and ethics. 6-7, 33-
37; and interpersonal relations,
57; a new method, 31-32: of
neurotic character, 83, 179, 223,
226

Raniilf, A., 235

Reason, Aristotle’.s use of, 25-26,
91-92; rational doubt, 201, 111 the
Enlightenment, 5, 213; as faculty
of man, 45; and faith, 197-98,
208; m relation to Freud, 35-36;
its function, 102-03; ‘^”^1 the
good, 233; as guide, 84; and life,
40-41; and love, 97, as a poten-
tiality, 207, 208; in relation to
power, 246-47; pride in, 3-4,
Spinoza's use of, 26; in trans-
forming material, 84

Paracdsus, 13

INDEX

^54

Receptive (masochistic) character,
62-63, 78, 79-80, 107-08, 111^

“A .

Riesman, D., xi

Relatedness, 43, 52, 57, 58-59 er
seq., 188, 220

Relativism, 5-6, 7, 14-15, 21-22,
34, 36, 50, 198, 201, 249
Responsibility, 231-32
Rice, P. B., 32

Sadism, 151, 180, 188, 226, 227,
228, 235. See also Exploitative
character
Sartre, J. P., 41
Schachtel, E., 75^

Scheler, Max, 143
Schroeder, T., 34
Schwarz, O., 87
Seidemann, A., x

Self, 143. See also Selfishness and
Self-interest
Self-interest, 133-41
Selfishness, and self-inter^t, 134;
and self-love, 119-33; and sub-
mission, 244; in relation to to-
talitarianism, 138
Shaftesbury, 143
Sheldon, 51, 53
Slesinger, D., xi
Smith, Adam, 143
Socialization, 58-59, 107 et seq.
Socrates, 36, 141, 211
Sophocles, 153

Spencer, Herbert, 15, 28, 177-78,
192-94, 195-97, 239^, ,

Spinoza, 25, 28, 33; on blessedness,
177; on socially patterned defect,
222; on freedom, 232; on free-
dom and productivity, 27; on
model of human nature, 26-27;
in relation to self-interest, 134;
on self-love, 123; on pleasure and
joy, 176-77; concept of pleasure,
178; on self-preservation, 26; on
potency and impotence, 27; and
the unconscious, 30; on virtue
and power, 92
Stimer, Max, 123-25
Sullivan, H. S., 57, 158, 219
Suppression-repression, 226-28, 229
Synderesis, 142-43

Temperament, 51-54
Tertullian, 203

Truth, 35-36, 44-45, 75, 76, 105-
06, 238-39

Virtue, 7, 12, 13, 18, 20, 25, 26-
, 27, 32-33, 36, 76, 91, 92, 121-
22, 128, 133, 139, 148, 150, 172,
191, 214, 221, 229, 230, 233,
241, 243

Weber, Max, 13?

Work, 19, 58, 01, 106, 107, 111,
135, 140, 194, 241
Wundt, 51